


Better Than Revenge

by OxfordElise



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Pining, Room of Requirement, Slow Burn, Vanishing Cabinets (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-09-18 12:30:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 79,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordElise/pseuds/OxfordElise
Summary: “Are you absolutely sure you want this? You can’t get revenge and keep your spotless reputation,” he reminded.The look on her face was set, her eyes shone with a rage not directed at him.“Sometimes revenge is a choice you’ve got to make.”Fueled by the pain of watching Ron snog Lavender Brown, Hermione seeks the help of Draco Malfoy in order to get revenge. 6th year, Dramione.





	1. Quidditch

“I hate Quidditch,” she muttered to herself as she stomped toward the portrait hole that led out of the Gryffindor common room.

The way Hermione Granger saw it, nothing good ever came from Quidditch. Harry almost died from the sport basically every year he played; in second year, poor Colin Creevey had been petrified all for wanting to simply _photograph_ the violent game; that stupid broom of Harry’s had cost her her friendship with the boys in third year; the Death Eaters had terrified everyone with their torture spree at the World Cup just before fourth. Harry, Fred, and George were lucky not to have been expelled last year with their ridiculous fight with Malfoy after one of the matches.

From Hermione’s perspective, there was nothing good about the violent sport all of the boys seemed to obsess over.

Hermione should have known this year wouldn’t be any different.

Watching the rowdy students celebrate was infuriating, but expected. There was a party every time Gryffindor won their match. Fred and George would pass around butterbeers for everyone while they still attended Hogwarts; Lee Jordan had taken over that job this year. Someone would be sent to the kitchens to gather pastries and snacks. The record player that usually sat quietly in the corner, its accompanying shelves full of dusty records ranging from ancient wizarding composers to the Weird Sisters to the Beatles, would be charmed to play loud enough to shake the whole tower.

This was all normal. Hermione had learned to turn a blind eye to the alcohol, as long as nobody got too inebriated, and even treated herself to a few desserts. She liked to dance when she knew the song and she appreciated when a few of her muggle favorites would come on.

This party was nothing out of the ordinary for Gryffindor tower. The drinks were being passed around, the pastries were offloaded onto a table somewhere, and the vibrations of a fun wizard tune fueled the dancing students.

Watching her best friend snog her roommate? Now that was new. 

Watching Ron snog Lavender in front of their whole house was not only infuriating, it crushed Hermione to the core. Hadn’t they decided to go to Slughorn’s party together? Was she mistaken when she assumed a recent increase of mutual affectionate behavior meant that he had feelings for her too? Even Harry thought he’d be a third wheel before Christmas break.

She felt like she had been led on. She felt betrayed. She felt angry and sad and jealous and spiteful all at once.

The curly-haired witch wouldn’t – no, _couldn’t_ – stand to watch Ron stick his tongue down Lavender’s throat any longer.

She pushed past her best friend, Harry, on her way out of the common room. He made a move to come along, but she shot him a look that said ‘I don’t want to be followed’ before slamming the portrait hole shut.

She could still hear the cheering students from the corridor so she took a few deep breaths before deciding she’d go for a walk towards the dungeons to get a cup of tea from the kitchens.

__________________________________________________

Draco’d had enough of the Slytherin common room. Everyone was moping around, Crabbe and Goyle kept asking questions he couldn’t answer, and the occasional shouting match would explode whenever a first-year mindlessly hummed Weasley is our King in front of someone who took the stupid game too seriously.

Up until this year, Draco would be one of those angry Quidditch followers. He’d probably still be on the team if he wasn’t so occupied by his new responsibilities.

With the current state of the common room, he couldn’t focus. He needed some coffee before he could gather his thoughts and return to the Room of Hidden Things for another go at the bloody cabinet.

The two tasks he was given by the Dark Lord were taking their toll on his body. His face bore darkening circles underneath his eyes. The worry lines on his forehead seemed like they would never fade. He was somehow more pale than usual and he could feel his weight drop with his appetite.

He cursed his awful father for forcing this life upon him. He would have been happy avoiding the Death Eater life altogether. He’d rather have the privilege of quietly taking classes and playing Quidditch and getting in trouble with Snape for talking in class, not for accidentally cursing a student instead of the headmaster.

These tasks felt impossible. He’d been at the cabinet almost every day since he got back to Hogwarts a month ago and there had been no progress at all. The damn thing used extremely advanced magic, it was a ridiculous task for any sixth year Slytherin to accomplish. He suspected The Dark Lord set this task with the intention for him to fail, only wanting an excuse to annihilate the entire Malfoy line.

Draco only agreed to take the Mark in hopes it would buy him time to protect his mother. Merlin knew she was deteriorating in the wake of her husband’s choices, abuse, and incarceration. This summer, he’d walked in on his mother’s deafening sobs more times than he cared to admit.

More than anything, he wanted this over with. He wanted to come out on the other side of this lunatic’s antics with his life and his mother. He wanted to settle down with her in the countryside somewhere, or near the sea, or maybe even somewhere else in Europe that she’d enjoy.

But until that could happen, he needed to make sure she didn’t become another victim of bloodshed for blood supremacy. He had to fix the damn cabinet and he had to murder his headmaster.

Draco stood up from his spot on the leather couch and pushed past his brainless minions as he made his way out of the common room. Crabbe and Goyle made a move to follow him, but Draco shot them a look that said ‘I don’t want to be followed’ before slamming the large oak door shut.

Taking a few deep breaths, the blonde brushed his fingers through his hair before climbing the stairs out of the dungeons to the kitchen where he could get a cup of coffee.

  
__________________________________________________

**A/N:** Welcome to my very first attempt at FanFiction! Very special thanks to **Rachelletwin2** , my incredibly helpful and generous Beta, without whom, this story would be nothing but an idea in my mind. The chapters in this story will be short to start but will get longer as the story develops. I already have 17 chapters written, so I intend to post regularly every Friday. Mild language will be used throughout the story, but I intend to keep it suitable for teenage readers.

**Disclaimer:** All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	2. Smirk

Hermione was enjoying the peacefulness of the kitchens and the calming warmth of her camomile tea. She thanked Dobby for his hospitality and welcomed his company. The elf was rambling on and on about a new shop in Hogsmeade that sold socks and other knitted items and she was content to nod her head in all of the right places as she got lost in her own thoughts instead.

All of these thoughts centered around Ronald Weasley and what to do about the situation he put her in by kissing her roommate in the common room. It put Hermione in a very uncomfortable position.

She could ignore his existence. She could ignore that anything had happened at all. She could sit with Ginny and Luna at the other end of the Gryffindor table and pretend she couldn’t see Lavender sitting in her normal spot. She could find a new table to sit at in classes to avoid both boys. Maybe, with Dean and Seamus? They had a tendency to get distracted or blow things up, but it was an option. Running away was an option.

She could get revenge. She could find another guy to wave in his face to show that she didn’t actually like him in the first place. She could make him jealous. She could buy a beautiful, form-flattering dress to wear to Slughorn’s party on the arm of someone more attractive and more intelligent.

She could do the mature thing and actually talk to him about it. She could apologize for making him feel like she wasn’t confident in his Quidditch abilities. She could come right out and tell him that she has romantic feelings for him. She could tell him that he could do much better than Lavender; She could kiss him.

She sat and she sipped and she thought.

The mature part of her knew that talking to him was the best, most responsible choice. But if Ron was acting childish, why shouldn’t she?

If he was going to date Lavender just to spite her, why shouldn’t she do the same?

No, she couldn’t! Hermione Granger had too clean of a record being nice to tarnish it over one stupid, brainless, frustrating, untalented, ungrateful, ridiculous, rude, freckle-faced boy!

Avoiding the situation would be the best choice anyway. Ginny and Luna would keep her busy. They’d be studying for their O.W.L. exams and might want her help. Ginny’s would be going to Slughorn’s holiday party with Dean, maybe he would be willing to convince Seamus to take her as friends. They could go dress shopping next–

“Did they banish the swotty bookworm from the tower so they could enjoy a real party for once?” She was shaken from her thoughts by a cool voice she unfortunately recognized.

“Young Master Malfoy! What is you needing?” Dobby chimed, rushing over to greet the boy.

“Hello Dobby, just a coffee please,” Malfoy responded politely.

Words quickly found the witch after that exchange. Her brown eyes moved questioningly from Malfoy in front of her and the elf trotting around the kitchen as he prepared the Slytherin’s drink. “Dobby, I thought you no longer served the Malfoy family. They treated you atrociously.”

_Was that a smirk on Malfoy’s face? How repulsive, as always._

“Dobby is no longer a Malfoy elf, miss, but I is happy to serve Young Master Malfoy. Young Master apologized, you see. He comes and sits with me sometimes and he even says ‘thank you,’” sang the elf.

_Well, that was a surprise._

Draco sat down across from the witch at the large table. The Slytherin agreed, “Yes, my father was more of the ‘rule by fear’ type, but it isn’t quite my style.”

“Right, you’ve probably had enough of that terrifying dictator business, haven’t you Malfoy?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

Hermione was mentally kicking herself for the bold comment she’d made before his surname had properly left her lips. She wasn’t accusing him of being a Death Eater, per say. She was rather tired of all of Harry and Ron’s talk on that particular matter, actually. But it was common knowledge who Lucius Malfoy followed and she would guess that the blonde sitting across from her had held company with Voldemort a time or two. Still, her comment might have been overboard.

Malfoy inhaled sharply as the temperature dropped to an icy chill. “I recommend you don’t go nosing around in business that doesn’t concern you, Granger. You’ll get yourself hurt,” the blonde retorted.

“Is that a threat, Malfoy?” Her voice came out more confident than she’d expected it to considering her heart was racing, but that was a good thing in the present company. Gryffindor Rule Number 1: Never let your guard down in front of a Snake.

The fierceness of his glare softened a bit, but she wasn’t sure why. “No, not a threat, Granger, merely a warning.” He leaned back in his chair, allowing the air of aristocracy, superiority, and confidence that usually surrounded him to return. “You do know that muggleborns are a target, don’t you? It wouldn’t be wise to involve yourself in dangerous affairs unnecessarily.”

The tension in the air dropped dramatically as her laugh rang throughout the kitchens. It was half real, half hiding the nerves she still felt. “Oh, you act like you care.”

“My mistake, Granger. I forgot Scarhead and Weasel-bee were the only ones allowed to care about you,” he sarcastically replied.

Hermione’s teacup crashed to the floor causing several elves to rush over to clean it up. Draco’s choice to insult Ron took her by surprise and brought her fierce anger toward the redhead back to the surface.

_And wait, had Malfoy implied that he cared about her on some level? That can’t be right..._

His voice was mocking. “Struck a nerve, have I?” That obnoxious, notorious smirk crossed his face as he looked down at her broken mess of camomile tea and porcelain. _The insufferable prat._

“Just stay out of it, Malfoy,” she snapped, beginning to rise from her seat. This was just not Hermione’s night and she didn’t need to continue sitting here with the poster boy for pompous prats.

 _No, no, no. She can’t get up and start leaving now._ _I was just starting to enjoy this._

Getting a rise out of Granger would forever be one of his favorite things to do. She was the stress release he needed right now and he wasn’t going to let her leave before a good argument even started. Besides, her reaction to his minor comment sparked his interest and left him curious. Why had his comment about the two Gryffindor sods startled her so much?

“Wait,” he requested before offering his best almost-smile. Like Mona Lisa; confident but hiding something. “Don’t let me chase you away.”

She took a noticeable breath, motioning to Dobby for another cup of tea before settling back down comfortably.

Malfoy was staring directly at her, a rare look of confusion taking over his usually cold mask.

“I’m surprised you stayed,” the blonde admitted as he leaned his head back into his hands.

 _Did his arrogant confidence ever falter?_ She’d have to squash that.

“You asked me to, didn’t you?” Hermione retorted with a sigh, letting the chair consume her body even more. “Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. Honestly, I just want to stay out of Gryffindor Tower long enough for… things… to die down.”

A touch of apprehension crossed her features briefly. If Draco wasn’t sitting directly across from her, he would have missed it.

She didn’t give him time to inquire about it; she continued talking. “I could go for a walk about the castle, but it can be a little creepy at night, don’t you think? Especially by myself. I always worry that I’ll get lost after the portraits have gone to sleep. Everything looks different when they aren’t correct in their frames. And a few of the corridors get quite drafty at night. I wasn’t able to grab my cloak before I left so I’d probably get sick. It's the end of October but the weather has been so cold, it feels like–

"Do you ramble like this all the time?” He cut into her monologue.

She blushed at his comment. “Sorry, it’s a nervous habit,” Hermione confessed.

She made the perfect mistake. Draco mustered up his most calm, charming voice, “What has you so nervous, Granger? Is it the same thing that sent you from the Tower in a hurry?”

The witch kept her eyes on him as she moved a stray curl out of her face. He could see faint tear stains on both cheeks, but she composed herself well enough for the average observer. Draco, however, was better than average.

She sighed again. “Yes, I suppose. But I’m not sure that nervous is the correct word. I think I’m more upset, or indignant.”

“Care to elaborate?”

The look on her face said a stern ‘no,’ but when had that ever kept the Malfoy Heir from trying?

“It seems you have nowhere to go for a while, and I have time to listen to the story of whatever’s got your knickers in a twist.”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and explain my problems to you of all people, you must be out of your mind,” Hermione scoffed.

“Then how about a walk? The movement will be good to get your nervous energy out.” He placed his coffee cup in the sink and moved toward the exit. “There’s no way you can get lost or be in danger if I’m with you.”

He smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Words cannot express how excited I am that the first chapter of Better Than Revenge was received so well! Seriously, every reader/favorite/comment has sent my heart smiling - THANK YOU! Again, many thanks to Rachelletwin2 for her kindness and support as Beta of this fic. Additional special thanks to gray-jedi-scavenger-rey, who has also been a Beta reader from the very beginning.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	3. Caught

They walked mostly in silence, occasionally bickering about which way to go. He let her rant about her hatred for Quidditch, mostly because she talked herself into circles of further agitation to his absolute enjoyment.

She had been going on the topic for twenty minutes and was at a high point when he had to either draw the line or get her focused on something he was more curious about: why she was avoiding Gryffindor Tower. She was basically scolding him for playing the sport as if he had been reckless enough to rob Gringotts. She could win a trophy for best McGonagall impression if there were such a thing. This witch could be very scary when she was upset.

"Granger," Draco braved, "why are you so upset about Quidditch right now? Need I remind you that your team won."

"Ugh, you're just like all of the others!" She shouted loud enough to wake a few nearby paintings. She didn't seem to notice. "None of you care about the injuries that are caused or the fights that break out, or the relationships that get placed on the back burner for the stupid, savage game. Ron didn't talk to me for _months_ in third year over a stupid argument over a broom – I was right, by the way, I always am – and this year looks like it will be the same. He's upset because he thought I doubted his abilities as a keeper and he took to _snogging_ LAVENDER BROWN in the middle of the bloody common room just to spite me! You all get so worked up about a sport that shouldn't have so much control over your lives," She stormed, starting to collect herself from the tirade that took over. "It's ridiculous!"

Hermione finished with a few shaky breaths and an apologetic, embarrassed glance at Malfoy, then at the rows of paintings that had woken up to listen.

Silence consumed the unlikely pair as they resumed walking. Draco, feeling smug at his success and a little prattish at her obvious pain, fought the snigger that threatened to surface. So she's throwing a fit because Weasel-Bee is snogging that blonde Gryffindor slag? _Interesting._

Hermione took a seat on a secluded staircase, burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. You don't deserve it."

No tears came. Only shame.

Most girls would have become a crying, blubbering mess of mascara; Draco was thankful that this witch wasn't like that.

He took a seat beside the brunette offering a playful nudge of comfort. "He's a prat anyway. Weasel doesn't deserve your time if that's how he treats his friends."

"It's more complicated than that. He just isn't great at communicating or handling things when he's angry," she defended.

Malfoy looked at her sternly before speaking. "See, this is why you're not a Slytherin. All of you Gryffindors are so bloody passionate and trusting and forgiving. You are cunning and observant, Granger, but you let your passion blind you. In Slytherin, we hide it. We keep face because we know what's useful. But you… you hate me, yet you share your most troubled thoughts with me almost without question," he argued. "Some may think that's real and healthy, but I see it as self-deprecation and ultimately, weakness.

"You let your emotions rule you. You'll do something reckless, but you'll call it brave. You try to live by putting everyone else first, protecting the world, but you won't see how it hurts you until it's already over," Malfoy exclaimed.

Hermione was taken aback by his insistence and, to her surprise, his accuracy. His words so perfectly described everything Harry had ever done, not to mention how she and Ron supported him along the way without question.

She'd be the first to admit that the revenge plan seemed enticing in the heat of the moment, but she demonstrated enough self-control to hold back. She thought it through and removed herself from the situation before she made any rash decisions.

"That may be true in some situations, but I have this under control. I'm usually the one in our group to think things through and take my time making decisions," the witch defended.

The famous Malfoy smirk graced his features again. "Sure, Granger, if you say so."

The man stood up, contemplating where to go next. He enjoyed, no _needed,_ this break from working on the cabinet. He had spent too much time trapped in that room today and had distanced himself from his housemates to the point where suspicions would be raised if he'd stayed.

Hermione's inquiry earlier showed that she and her two friends were at least curious about his affiliation with the Dark Lord. There's no way they could know for sure. But they probably speculated. He'd need to be more careful to keep his cover, yet more diligent to complete his assignments.

The girl was still sulking, lost in the inner maze of her mind. Her head hung low in her hands and she looked tired. Her anger only masked part of the sadness he knew was there.

Hermione conjured a small flock of birds that twittered above her head, chirping happy, pleasant sounds. They mocked him. They reminded him of his impending failure.

He needed to get out of there, that room with its walls closing in. He reached out a hand to help her up.

Her brown eyes met his stormy ones, the birds grew quiet, her body sat unmoving on the step.

Draco internally cursed himself. Why did being raised a proper gentleman always have to rear his head when it would make things awkward? This is holding the door open for Pansy in fourth year all over again. At least this witch wasn't daft enough to assume a kind gesture was invitation for a relationship.

Hermione's body language was inquisitive, but she accepted his gesture anyway.

Almost as if on cue, the annoying sound of giggling filled the hall as the door opened at the end of the corridor allowing none other than Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown to walk through.

Everything was silent for a long moment. Draco could feel Hermione stiffen at his side. _Did she realize her hand was still holding his?_ Her grip tightened around his hand like she had heard his thoughts. She wasn't going to let go.

"Oops," giggled the blonde girl, her own grip tightening around Ron's arm. "It looks like this room's taken."

"Her-Hermione, what are you doing here?" Asked the bumbling redhead.

Draco's hand got a squeeze again. "I was just having tea in the kitchens with _Draco_ and we decided to go for a walk."

 _Damnit, Granger,_ she had to go and let her emotions run away with her brain. He didn't want to be dragged into her mess.

Weasel's face changed to match his hair color. "'Draco?' When did you start calling him 'Draco?'" He almost shouted.

"About a month ago when we got paired for an arithmancy project," Granger promptly lied.

Draco was sure a vein on Weasley's neck was about to pop. "Oh really?" he chided, "You've been hanging 'round the slimiest snake all term, have you?"

"Well if you had ever cared to ask–

"No, don't put that on me. Were you ever going to tell us? Would you have told me? I suppose you two are together now, right? Deserted corridors, holding hands..." Ron continued to get angrier, but his words told another story. He was jealous, too. Ron thought _she_ had led _him_ on. "He's a Death Eater, Hermione!"

Draco decided he wouldn't let this go any farther. Releasing Granger's hand, Malfoy reached for his wand, aiming it directly at the Weasel's abnormally large forehead. "I suggest you stop making assumptions, Weasel-Bee. This has nothing to do with you."

Ron scoffed, absentmindedly shoving Lavender away from him in his state of agitation. "You can bet your arse it involves me. You sneak around the castle, no one knows where you go or what you're up to. You're working on something! You're hiding something! What is it?"

Hermione cut in, stepping between the quarreling men. "Usually, he's with me, Ron. Now, if you'd kindly excuse us, it appears your _girlfriend_ would like nothing better than to shag you in a dusty, dank corner of the castle and I don't want to be around when it starts."

With a definitive stomp of her foot signifying the conversation was over, Hermione grabbed Draco's hand roughly and pulled him away with her.

When he was finally able to stop her from moving forward, Draco shook himself free and not-so-gently trapped the offending witch against the cold, brick wall.

"What the bloody hell was that?"

"I- I- I don't know! I'm sorry, I just got carried away. The idea hit me earlier and I–

"You _what_ , Granger? You dragged me into this and now that moron thinks we're together! Are you _MAD_?" Draco lost it.

"Well… Well…"

"Well what, Granger? I told you that something like this would happen. I knew you would let your emotions get the best of you! It's all you Gryffindors are reliable for; thinking with your heart instead of your brain and screwing everything up around you," he countered.

She tried to push him away from her with no success. He was too strong. He smelled like pine needles, clean and sharp like the lines of the angular face she was seeing close up for the first time.

The sound of a door opening on a nearby hallway shocked the pair. "Follow me," Draco commanded, swiftly leading her down a few empty hallways, through a cave-like tunnel behind a portrait she'd never seen before to a closet door that was vaguely familiar.

Reluctantly, she followed him inside.

Hermione spoke first, "Is it that bad of an idea? Look, Malfoy, they think you've got the Mark. They know you're up to something. I can vouch for you. I can get them off your track so you won't be followed everywhere. They trust me. Well, Harry does, and I'm tired of listening to their conversations about their ridiculous theories about you anyway. This could really help us both."

He'd admit the idea wasn't all bad. It would be helpful to have her on his side. He could find out how much they knew. He could use her.

Maybe – It's a dangerous idea – but maybe she could even help him fix the cabinet. She's called the smartest witch of their age for a reason. She might be able to see the situation from a different perspective. He wouldn't have to tell her exactly how the cabinet will be used.

He would have to come up with a plan before he agreed to anything.

"What would this be, a fake relationship? Why would I want the whole castle to think that I'm dating someone like you? It ruins my reputation as a pureblood," the blonde pointed out.

She thought differently, "No, no, no, don't you see? This would protect your reputation. Tell Nott and Goyle and the other elitists whatever you want, but it protects you from

the prying eyes of my side. It will keep McGonagall, Dumbledore, and even my friends off your back for a while. They know I'd never date someone with questionable intentions," Hermione countered.

"Do you hear yourself, Granger? You're aware my intentions are not aligned with yours. I'm not saying I'm Marked, but you know where my loyalties lie. That won't change." Draco shifted uncomfortably feeling like he'd given away too much information.

Hermione was too focused on her internal distress to notice the Slytherin's discomfort. Her mind was racing with thoughts. She knew she had been confirming everything Malfoy had said about Gryffindors when she decided not to let go of his hand. She knew that seeking revenge by fake-dating Ron's enemy wasn't the most logical way to go. But still, she loved the idea of seeing Ron squirm with a jealous rage. She loved the idea of proving that Hermione Granger was, in fact, datable. She also loved the idea of getting Harry to shut up for ten minutes about his Malfoy's-a-Death-Eater Theory. She wanted this, perhaps by a stroke of insanity, she wanted Malfoy to be her fake boyfriend.

"You're right," the witch muttered, shaking her head and sending curls flying every direction. "This might be crazy, but think about it! There is a lot of good that could come of it," she tried, the slightest bit of desperation echoing each word that left her mouth.

Her eyes sharpened at the dismissive shrug of his shoulders, but she could see the gears in his mind turning, thinking, considering.

"Wouldn't you like to not spend every minute shadowed by Harry?" she asked provocatively. He continued to think silently and she began to wonder if she was taking this too far, if it was a lost cause.

He looked nervous and unsure, two qualities she'd never seen him wear. She pressed on, "You do know he follows you around, right?"

At that, she had his attention. "Is that supposed to frighten me, Granger?" Malfoy scowled, his eyes piercing.

"No, I'm simply inquiring as to if you are aware," she clarified coolly, noting the way his muscles grew tense. "If he thought the two of us were dating, he wouldn't invade your privacy. He wouldn't follow you around. He'd leave us alone."

He sighed suddenly feeling the weight of his exhaustion weighing on his eyelids. "Okay, Granger, I see what you mean. There might be some benefits to making _an arrangement_ with you, but I'm not sure I can commit to anything."

"But Malfoy, think abou-

"Look, why don't we sleep on it," offered Draco, cutting her off. "We can meet back here tomorrow night to see what we each decide and go from there. We both have a lot to lose."

"Okay, Malfoy, that's fine. Tomorrow, eight o'clock," she paused, "but where are we?"

"The Room of Requirement, of course."

She nodded. _Of course._

"Just think 'I need a place to meet Draco' and it will appear."

She nodded again in understanding and turned to leave, obviously overcome with many thoughts from the evening.

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight, Granger."

With a shy smile and small nod, the witch closed the door.

Hermione arrived at the portrait hole soon after where she told the Fat Lady the password and made her way into the now-empty common area. Knowing that Lavender was likely still with Ron somewhere else in the castle, Hermione was safe to climb the stairs to her dorm deep in thought.

She crawled into bed with her clothes on thinking she'd fall asleep almost instantly, but she was wrong. Her mind was much too busy, thoughts swarming like threatened bees inside her usually organized mind.

More than anything, her thoughts were heavy with guilt, a feeling she wasn't all that familiar with. Had she been unreasonably harsh to Malfoy the past few years? She'd thought him to be an arrogant, aristocrat, mini-version of his awful father. He'd spent years calling her "mudblood." He believed that she deserved little more than the privilege of licking the dirt off his boots. He thought his pure blood and deep vaults placed him above everyone else– above muggleborns, above the working class, above magical creatures. Yet, one simple statement from Dobby had sent her whole picture of the blonde up in billowing smoke.

Malfoy apologizing was as rare and elusive as the Grim. Sure, it was bound to rear its head every once in a while, but it would absolutely shake anyone who witnessed it. No one would actually believe they saw it happen. For Malfoy to apologize to a house elf he'd treated unfairly, the world must be ending, right? She couldn't believe the git had actually moved away from his elitist mentality.

Well, maybe he hadn't. She couldn't be sure. His words said he still felt superior and wanted to fulfill his duty as a pureblood, but his actions told her a different story. If he truly thought her to be filth, would he have offered to go on a walk? Probably not, unless that was supposed to be some kind of trick. Would he have offered to help her up from the stairs? Now that was a definite no. Purebloods were supposed to be disgusted by the idea of interacting with a muggle-born, but Malfoy did not shy away in those moments at all. He didn't flinch or look all that uncomfortable.

She couldn't shake the disturbing thought that Malfoy had actually been _nice_ to her. He'd told her what she needed to hear, he'd tried to distract her, he'd asked her questions about her thoughts, which none of her friends had bothered to do in weeks. He'd practically comforted her after she scolded him for something he didn't do and offered a kind hand to help her up like a gentleman should. It was all so foreign and confusing, especially when she was also thinking about Ron. Her supposed 'best friend and future boyfriend' had been ruthless with his words, yelling at her, insulting her, and doing something he knew would upset her immensely. Just as she thought their romantic relationship was going to take off, he decided to destroy her heart instead.

With this single comparison between the two boys, a kind enemy and a hurtful friend, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why she had been friends with Ron for so long in the first place. Even further, she wondered why she fell in love with him.

From the very first day of their first year, Ron showed the kind of hurtful things he was capable of. She hadn't forgotten that their trio formed on Halloween that first year after the boys saved her from that mountain troll. What the boys did certainly saved her life and for that, she was grateful. However, the boys seemed to let one minor detail slip from their memory of the event. She wouldn't have needed to be saved if Ronald Weasley hadn't shot off his mouth to insult her, causing her to cry her eyes out in that bathroom. He was angry all of the time and he held awful grudges. In times where they were at odds, he was ruthless and immature. Was that really the guy she fell in love with? Someone who is hot-headed and willing to throw away the people he calls friends until he gets over whatever minuscule misstep they made against him? She felt like she barely knew Ron at all. He was too unpredictable and she wasn't sure she could deal with him and his antics any longer.

On the other hand, Malfoy seemed to be reliable. She could count on him to insult her and make snarky comments in her direction. She could rely on his outfit to be a tailored black suit with either a black or white dress shirt and a simple tie. She could rely on him to be professional and he seemed like he would keep secrets, unless he personally gained something by spilling it, of course. She could count on him to make fun of her hair and her attachment to books, but he'd been quietly just behind her in grades in practically every class. Well, except potions. He'd been top of that class every year to her frustration.

Malfoy was insulting and arrogant and calculating and he'd come from a bad family, but after tonight, she no longer thought Malfoy was fundamentally a bad guy. How could she ignore the few positive qualities he'd shown as he walked her around the castle? He was protective, honest, challenging, attentive, and _pleasant_. He paid attention to her and he listened to her as she spoke. Hermione was shocked that Malfoy stood out above her friends in that area, and frustrated that it took her an evening of heartbreak and a stroll around the castle with an enemy to see that her friends weren't as reliable as she needed.

Of course, there were moments in her past that demonstrated how incredible Harry and Ron could be, as well as moments that proved how hurtful Malfoy could be, but recently? Recently, the Gryffindors had not shown any consideration for her and her feelings and Malfoy was the kind and attentive one.

She was still wary of the Slytherin, she wasn't sure if she could really trust him. But she couldn't completely write off the blonde as a lost cause.

This night had all been too confusing. Was she really thinking positive things about Malfoy? And could she be thinking negatively of her friends – the ones she spent every day with? It felt like betrayal. Then again, hadn't Ron's betrayal brought her to this point? That made her feel better about her strange thoughts. Whatever happened from this point forward could be blamed on the redhead.

It's all Ron's fault, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always, thank you, Rachelletwin2 and gray-jedi-scavenger-rey for editing and betaing this fic. Their feedback, suggestions, and help putting commas in the right place has been sooooo helpful. As we get more into the heart of the story, I hope all of you readers continue to love it :) Your kind comments, follows, favorites, and reviews have melted my heart. Thank you!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	4. Deal

Chapter Four: Deal

The next morning, Draco took his usual seat between Goyle and Zabini (Crabbe rarely made it to the Great Hall in time for breakfast) and poured himself some coffee. He felt more relaxed than he had been in a while, even with the threat of death still hanging over his head.

Yes, a break from the cabinet and a good night’s sleep was nice.

Oddly, the wizard couldn’t help but let thoughts of Granger sneak into his mind.

Pureblood princesses were always so pompous and proper and they managed to be bitchy in such a way that made you think they were sweet. They put no effort into their classes, rather they spent their time practicing pointless vanity spells and studying household magic so they could fill the role of the perfect pureblood wife.

There was something refreshing about a girl who didn’t care what she looked like.

What was more, Draco saw hard-working and dedicated qualities in Granger that no other girl he knew exhibited. She was fierce and she was smart.

He still hated her, of course. Not because of her blood, but because of her infuriating Gryffindorness.

Draco didn’t hold the same blood purity prejudices he did as a child. That had changed the moment she broke his nose and called him a cockroach.

Any witch who had the audacity to stand up and defend herself against him when he was being a prat was a powerful witch in Draco’s book. Granger proved that blood played no role in one’s magical capabilities. The curly haired witch and her perfect grades turned Draco’s world upside down and revolutionized the way he saw those around him. At least on the issue of blood.

These positive thoughts Draco could associate with Granger didn’t mean Draco fancied the witch, _Merlin no._ He still hated her and her swotty, know-it-all, miss-perfect, annoying attitude. But he could respect her.

  
Up until the end of third year, she’d been a passionate subject of his ridicule. But to be honest, since that punch, his foul treatment of her was much less about her blood and more about her ability to make him look as ignorant as Weasley. She always had a quick retort for his taunts and her intelligence made him incredibly jealous at times. He was no fool. He’d gotten a few Os on his OWL’s and was in the top ten of their year, but she still managed to make him feel inferior. His father would also never let him forget that “Potter’s mudblood friend” bested him. For as long as he could remember, Draco was taught that her blood made her lowly and week; undesirable. When that thought was challenged, he’d been infuriated with his father, feeding the fire of disdain for the man. How dare Lucius think so little of his own son that he assumes he can be manipulated and brainwashed into believing anything without challenging it first. Power lies with those of pure blood? Magic is Might? Draco was no longer convinced.

He was not fighting this war for pureblood elitism like his parents were. Draco was fighting to keep his mother safe and to try to rectify some of his father’s mistakes that left the Malfoy name unfavored by every side in the wizarding world.

True to form, Draco would do just about anything to save himself – like a good Slytherin.

“Where did you go last night?” Goyle asked Draco quietly, shaking him from his thoughts.

The blonde pulled together his mask of aristocratic superiority before he responded haughtily, “I thought you were aware that nothing I do is any of your concern.”

The chubby, yet strong young man paled. “I just thought you wanted us to keep watch when–

“You complete idiot, Goyle,” roared Draco sternly in the offending student’s ear. “Don’t you know when to shut your mouth? Mixed company.”

Goyle nodded solemnly as he returned to eating his toast.

“Check out the couple over at Gryffindor Table. That Weasley’s got the Brown bint sitting on his lap feeding him bites of pancakes,” laughed Zabini. “It looks like his sister and Granger are about to have a fit!”

Draco dared a glance at the Gryffindors. Granger was slicing her pancake with such fervor that he thought she was trying to cut through the plate and the table with it. The she-weasel was glaring daggers at her youngest brother from her spot beside the brunette.

Spearing a piece of fruit with her fork, Granger leered at the repulsive couple over her shoulder before shifting her gaze straight ahead of her in defiance.

Her eyes locked on Malfoy’s across the room.

Her glare almost softened, but Ron and Lavender started snogging loudly from their seats a few people down. Granger’s face became unreadable. She looked completely neutral as she collected her book bag, bid Ginny a polite goodbye, and glanced again at Draco before walking out of the Hall.

If that was any indication she was thinking about what she could do to remedy the awful Weasley situation, Draco suspected she would want to proceed with the plan they’d talked about last night.

Darco still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.

He’d never been one for public displays or public declarations of love. If they were to fake date to make Weasley jealous, most of it would have to be where others could see.

The idea of being able to get Potter off of his tail was quite nice. Since he discovered Scarhead had an invisibility cloak, Draco had become much more nervous about doing anything. Especially after last night when Granger had full-out confirmed that Potty was intentionally stalking him.

Getting Granger to help him mend the vanishing cabinet was another big plus of going forward with the plan. If he could spin a story strong enough, believable enough, and safe enough as to why he was trying to fix it, there was no doubt the witch would be able to help.

Draco couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been successful at whatever she set out to do.

Perhaps he could tell her that he needed a way to get all of the other students out of the castle for when the Dark Lord decides to take over Hogwarts.

_No,_ he thought, that wouldn’t work because it makes me sound too good.No one would believe that he was trying to help save everyone.

Maybe he could explain that he needed a way to go home every once in a while without alerting the Headmaster. The only problem would be he’d need a reason for him to be going home, and a reason that he can’t tell Dumbledore.

He could tell her that he needed to return home to check on his mother. He worries about her already. It is believable enough. Everyone knows Lucius is not in a good place; the older Malfoy cannot be trusted in his position to take care of his family. That much has been proven to the world time and time again.

If he didn’t have this impossible task to complete at Hogwarts, Draco would have stayed home to take care of his mother anyway.

That just might work.

But did he have time for a fake relationship? _Probably not._

And did he want that fake relationship to be with _Granger_ of all people? _Definitely not._ There was no guarantee they wouldn’t hex each other within the first hour.

As awful as dating the muggle-born witch sounded, he couldn’t shake the idea that he was doomed if he didn’t come up with some better plan to fix the connection between the vanishing cabinets.

At this point, he realized he couldn’t accomplish it alone.

* * *

Later that evening, precisely at 8:00 pm, Hermione passed three times in front of the Room of Requirement. Just as instructed, she thought _‘I need a place where I can meet Draco,’_ causing a large, wooden door to appear. She turned the knob and stepped in before anyone could find her in the hallway.

This room was different than the empty closet he had pulled her into the night before. This room was much more put-together. Draco was already inside, seated in a dark mahogany chair that reeked regality. He was leaning over a desk, large and wooden, as his eyes wandered over the empty bookshelves that waited to be filled and the couch that looked perfect for reading.

While more warm and welcoming than the small space they went to last night, this room was intimidating. Maybe it was they way Malfoy was seated so stiffly in that throne-like chair, but it reminded Hermione of an office that would belong to the CEO of a major global company.

This wasn’t her usual study table in the library. Then again, she should have known. This was Draco Malfoy, after all, and Merlin knew neither subtlety nor simplicity would ever describe the Slytherin.

“Good evening, Granger,” he called, an air of aristocracy ringing in his tone. A businessman. “Let’s sit and get down to it.”

She took her seat across from him at the regal desk. “I want to go through with this, I want to fake date you to get a rise out of Ron – and Lavender for that matter. She’s my roommate. She knew he was off limits and went for him anyway. I want revenge.” Her tone was vengeful, yet calm.

“Are you absolutely sure you want this? You can’t get revenge and keep your spotless reputation,” he reminded.

The look on her face was set, her eyes shone with a rage not directed at him.

“Sometimes revenge is a choice you’ve got to make.”

Draco always thought the witch before him had eyes that were brown and plain like the books she hid behind, but seeing them up close in this moment told him he had thought wrong. They weren’t plain and they were barely even brown. They were amber, gold, and yellow, lit from the fire blazing within her.

He should have known her eyes would remind him of an Incendio. Not because she was particularly warm, no. But because she had been fire in so many ways. Everyone at school knew that. She set fire to the ground, enough to light her way and burn anything that tried to stop her. 

Most people would have cowered when faced with the fire that burned behind her eyes. Most people would have shrunk with feelings of insecurity and intimidation the moment her flames were felt. But most people were not Draco Malfoy. He was no stranger to fire; he knew that it held unmeasurable power.

So he welcomed it.

“Conditions then. We need rules. I won’t help you for nothing. You need to help me with a few things, too.”

The room provided new parchment and quills for their meeting. The supplies appearing on the desk caught Hermione’s eye for the slightest of moments. Even after all of the time she spent in this room the year before, it’s magical abilities still impressed her. The sudden appearance of stationary between them didn’t seem to phase the Slytherin.

Hermione nodded her assent, prompting Draco to pull the parchment and quill toward himself. With a quick flick of his wand, the quill had inked itself and touched its tip to the parchment ready to write.

“First, I need your promise that nothing said in this room will leave this room.”

Well, that’s an obvious one, she thought. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.  “Of course, Malfoy. I won’t share anything... if you promise to keep the same silence,” she added smartly.

“You will keep Potter off of my track to the best of your ability. I don’t want him following me around or starting rumors.” Hermione nodded signaling her agreement.

Draco continued confidently. He had to be convincing for the Gryffindor to believe him. “Potter is correct in one thing. I’ve been working on a project of sorts, but he is incorrect in assuming that it is something bad. I’ve hit a wall with this project and, if we are to do this fake relationship, you will help me with it.”

“I won’t agree to help you with anything before you tell me what the project is and why it’s secret,” Hermione declared.

Draco was prepared. Hermione was no dim girl, she was smart beyond belief. He knew she wouldn’t agree to anything without fully understanding the offer. His hard exterior softened a bit as he chose to reveal his desperate feelings rather than mask them as usual.

“Of course. I’ve been working to fix a broken vanishing cabinet that is here in the castle. I need to fix the broken connection between the two so I can leave the castle occasionally undetected.”

Hermione opened her mouth to argue but he cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s pair resides in Diagon Alley. From Diagon Alley, I will floo to Malfoy Manor so I can take care of my mother,” Draco explained. “It is apparent that my father has let his choice of… activities deteriorate her wellbeing. He doesn’t care for her. He’s created a toxic environment in our manor that she can barely live in. It is difficult to see her so emotionally abandoned by my father, the man she once loved, and I need to make sure she is okay,” he explained earnestly. His usual smugness was gone. He rubbed at his neck with hands that trembled ever-so-slightly.

Hermione sat there silently for a moment as she thought through the request.

“Why should I believe you?” she asked. 

“My father has been on a pedestal in my mind for as long as I can remember. I hate that I couldn’t see the solely self-serving man he was earlier. I hate that he shoved family loyalty down my throat for years when he didn’t believe in it himself. I hate him. But I can’t abandon my mother when she needs me. She needs hope.”

Seeing the normally emotionless Slytherin speak with such distress, such desperation, was startling. The honesty and vulnerability made him seem more relatable, more human. It shook the strong walls she’d built against him over the years, making them weaker. She felt bad for him. But she was hesitant to completely trust him. 

“Why not tell Dumbledore? Surely he could help you protect her,” she offered, her voice dripped with hope and optimism. It made him uncomfortable.

“That would only cause greater harm. It’s not like Dumbledore can simply meander into the Manor and ask her to come away with him. No, it has to be me. If others know about the connection, it will be taken advantage of. Too many people will be put at risk.” His reasoning was understandable, but she didn’t like how his tone returned to that of a businessman. It made her uncomfortable.

She continued to look at him unbelieving.

He dropped his voice, allowing his sincerity and his fraught emotions to push past the Malfoy Mask once again, almost in a plea. “Surely, you’d do anything to protect your parents?”

Draco saw her resolve melting before him. Appealing to her sympathies was a backup plan, but at least it had worked. Meeting her eyes once again, he could see her compassion abounding through the flames. They were warm, worried for him– full of empathy for him.

“Okay, I’ll agree to help you fix the cabinet.”

Before she could change her mind, Draco spelled the quill to add the cabinet to their contract agreement.

They moved on to discuss the terms of their fake relationship. For this to work, the whole school needed to believe they were a couple.

It was decided that Draco would make the first public move the following day at breakfast.

They would make appearances as a couple in the library and sit at Hermione’s favorite study table, and she would sit with him in the Slytherin section at future Quidditch matches to show that they support one another.

They quarreled over the physical aspects that come with a relationship. He could touch her back, but not too low and he could put his arm around her. Hermione demanded that no kissing was allowed, but they should hold hands when reasonable. Draco argued that no one would believe they were dating if no one ever saw them kiss. She countered that he wasn’t a very PDA type of person anyway, so no one was likely to notice.

In the end, they decided that they would kiss each other’s cheeks in greeting after a week of exposing their relationship to the school. This way, they looked like they were romantically interested in each other, but were polite enough to keep it behind closed doors.

Draco would escort Hermione to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.

Draco would be civil to Harry and Ginny if and when the situation came up for them to be around each other. He could continue being a normal prat to Ron.

They would meet every night at 8:00 in the Room of Requirement to work on the cabinet.

And under no circumstances were either of them to ever speak of the nature of their agreement. To the world, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were really boyfriend and girlfriend. No exceptions. She refused to let _anyone_ know that she was stooping to the level of getting revenge over a broken heart.

When the contract was completed and both partners were content with the conditions, they shook hands, copied and protected the contract so only they could read it. A brief silence fell between them.

“So, this cabinet of yours, are you going to show me?”

“Right now?” Draco commented, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe I was mistaken, but it sounded as if you were desperate to fix the vanishing cabinet. If you require my help, it would probably be best if you showed me what we are working with,” Hermione hissed giving her best Umbridge impression.

“Okay, okay, Granger you’ve made your point. Let’s go.”

The new fake couple left their office so Draco could summon the correct room.

The new door was much larger and much more regal in style compared to the simple one that hid their office. The carvings on it were an ornate pattern of ruins that Hermione ached to decipher, but there would not be any time for her personal interests. This was Malfoy’s part of the plan, and he was already pulling the grand door open.

At his gesture, she slowly stepped into the unlit room, allowing the Slytherin to shut the door behind them. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” admitted Hermione as she rubbed her eyes in an attempt to help them adjust to the darkness more quickly.

Towers and towers of objects filled the large, vaulted room. Broken chairs and dismantled tables had been thrown together in a mess of metal and wood, creating a mountain whose height rivaled the Great Pyramids of Giza. Next to the furniture stood a pile of books so tall, she imagined needing a broom to place another book on top of the rest, not that she ever would treat a book with such disdain. No sooner had she thought about brooms when she noticed a cluster of them thrown beside another monumental tower of objects, dusty and in need of serious maintenance.

She fought the urge to explore the books and pushed down the frustration rising inside her at the thought of how poorly these books were being treated. Dusty, thrown haphazardly in a precarious pile, in a dank room, with no one to read them.

After allowing her a few moments to drink in the scene before them, Malfoy’s cool, confident voice rang through the otherwise silent room. “It’s almost like a maze in here, so follow me. This room is filled with some really messed up magical objects and creatures, you wouldn’t want to be left behind.”

In silence, she followed him along the braided path between precarious towers of rubbish. Pile after pile, tower after tower, mass of objects after mass of objects, Hermione wondered how all of this could fit so easily, yet go unnoticed inside a castle that seemed suddenly too small for this use. The thought inspired a new wave of appreciation for magic, for this room was absolutely phenomenal.

When they arrived at the cabinet, Hermione set about observing the object, opening and closing the doors, casting a few spells wordlessly. Draco reasoned they were probably all of the observational spells he’d already done, but he was surprised when a bright blue light emanated from the cabinet, causing the glow to illuminate much of the space around them for a moment. He wasn’t aware of that spell, whatever it was.

“It’s a diagnostic spell,” she stated matter-of-factly as if she had been reading his mind. “Prope Certum; I learned it from Mr. Weasley two summers ago. The object you’re testing will glow an obvious blue if it requires much maintenance, but the glow turns white when it is completely fixed.”

“It looks like we have a lot of work to do, then,” responded Draco with a frown.

Hermione sighed audibly. “Yes, well, no need to carry that negative attitude. We will fix the cabinet eventually. We just need to do some research.”

“I should have known,” he mocked with a sneering half-smile and glaring eyes. “Hermione Granger: Bookworm Extraordinaire.”

She smiled politely, fire dancing in her eyes once again. “You best mind that mocking tone, Draco Malfoy. That is no way to talk to your _girlfriend_ , is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi, welcome, happy 2019! I hope your year is off to a good start (and if it isn't, I'm sorry. I hope it gets better soon)! 
> 
> Great thanks to Rachelletwin2 and Gray-Jedi-Scavenger-Rey, my kind Betas, for their suggestions and help with this story. Any and all errors that remain are my own. I appreciate any constructive feedback in the comments! I will be updating, as per usual, next Friday. 
> 
> "Prope Certum" is Latin, translating to "nearly fixed" or "almost fixed."
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	5. Shock

Chapter Five: Shock

“Hey, Granger!”

Hermione heard Ginny beside her grumble, “What is the ferret playing at?” Hermione shot a glare in the redhead’s direction, despite the nerves that were currently upsetting her breakfast.

“Good morning Draco,” Hermione sang, her eyes lighting up as she turned to face the approaching blonde. Their whole plan rode on the next three minutes. She had to make it believable.

The look on Ginny’s face showed absolute disgust when Hermione scooted closer to make room for Draco to sit down with them.

He rested a hand on Hermione’s back (slightly lower than she approved of) and reached for a piece of her toast.

“I brought that book that we talked about last night,” he stated while handing over a small blue book with the title ‘Twelfth Night’ across the cover.

For a moment, her expression held a hint of panic and he was worried she wouldn’t be able to play along with how he decided to break the public conversation barrier.

She only missed a beat, “I can’t believe that you’ve read books by muggle authors!”

“I’m more surprised I’ve read a book you haven’t, muggle or not,” he laughed slightly too perfectly.

Ginny’s eyes grew wider and Hermione could feel Harry’s dumbfounded gaze from further down the table where he sat beside Ron.

“Don’t get too comfortable, I’ll have this finished by the end of the week.” The brunette witch placed a hand softly on the blonde’s knee. “Thank you for the book,” she added sweetly.

Her touch, however chaste, was uncomfortable and too much. They had made their point, he needed to leave now. He needed to find a calming draught before classes started.

Instead, he asked, “Would you like to walk to class together?”

Hermione awkwardly smiled catching Ginny’s confused glare in her peripheral vision. Keeping her fire-lit eyes focused on the man in front of her, Hermione tried her best to remain calm and collected. “Uhhhh, I need to visit the library before class, but I’ll catch you in Arithmancy.”

“Right, see you,” Draco replied awkwardly, excusing himself from the table with a polite nod.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ginny practically yelled.

“Please, don’t make a scene.”

Ginny’s volume dropped but her tone remained crazed. “You had a normal conversation with Draco sodding Malfoy in the great hall. Are you absolutely mad?!”

“I’ve gotten to really know Draco this term and he really isn’t that bad. He– he can actually be quite kind sometimes. He walks with me around the castle when it’s too late to walk around alone.”

“Hermione Jean Granger, do you mean to tell me you’ve been hanging around with Draco Malfoy all year and I’m just now finding this out?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. At first, it didn’t seem like anything worth mentioning. It took time to get used to,” Hermione admitted.

“And how is it different now?” Ginny inquired.

“Now I trust him. I have feelings for him that I can’t explain, Ginny. We talked about it last night. We’re together now. We’ve just decided.” The last part caused Hermione’s cheeks to turn a light shade of pink.

Ginny’s gaze bore into Hermione’s eyes searching for a stitch of sarcasm or dishonesty, but found none. Hermione’s eyes were schooled into an impassive stare that was so close to sincerity that no one would question it.

“Wow, Hermione, I can’t say I saw this coming,” the redhead sighed.

“My first class is charms with Harry, I was going to tell him first thing if he hasn’t figured it out already. Don’t confirm anything until then?” Hermione pleaded.

Ginny nodded, “You have until lunch today. After that, I won’t avoid any questions that are thrown my way. I expect everyone will know before dinner tonight.”

* * *

 

The path to Charms was long but well-known. The soft steps of Hermione’s feet carried her without conscious direction.

It had been a successful first encounter considering all the plan entailed. Once her and Malfoy began doing things more publicly, Ron would be enraged, she knew it.

Today he had only touched her back and she had barely placed a hand on the innocent part of his leg, yet Ginny had thrown a fit.

And Ginny was relatively easy compared to how she expected Harry and Ron to react when they found out. Hermione half expected Harry to shout at her, asking her to change her mind, or disbelieving her altogether. Ron, she hoped, would turn an unattractive shade of puce and take to threatening the Slytherin, or throw an embarrassing fit in front of the whole school.

But just thinking about those small touches set Hermione on fire. Her body was hot with anxiety. Her hands wanted to shake as her heartbeat increased to a rapid pace.

She had wanted nothing of this physical sort, but his argument for them to physically interact made sense. That still didn’t make it easy for her. She simply hadn’t really been physical with a boy before, even this innocently. Other than the few shy encounters she’d had with Viktor in fourth year before Ron chased him away at the ball, Hermione had absolutely no experience with boys. She wasn’t striking like Ginny or willing like Pansy; Hermione had never really been the object of a man’s desire.

As much as she wanted to blame it on lack of opportunity, Hermione was also unsure if she really was comfortable allowing many of her firsts to be with someone she didn’t actually care about.

For years as a child, Hermione dreamed about the first time she would hold a boy’s hand, the first time she’d be asked on a date, and the first boy she’d call her boyfriend. It felt so wrong to allow Malfoy take all of these firsts, essentially robbing her of those moments she thought would be special.

She’d have to accept that her younger self’s romantic fantasies would not be at all how she imagined.

Hermione decided that she and Draco would have to practice the physical stuff in private. This morning it had taken everything she had to maintain the flirty smile and wishfully twinkling eyes. Right now, Hermione wasn’t confident she wouldn’t twitch if he reached to hold her hand. If they were going to make this believable, they would have to shake the awkwardness she felt today, especially if she really wanted to set Ron off on a jealous tirade.

Arriving at the plain brown door of the Charms classroom, Hermione took a deep, steadying breath. Before she could make Ron truly jealous, she had to tell Harry.

When Hermione finally stepped inside the classroom, she was disgusted to see Ron and Lavender snogging at their chosen desk in the back of the classroom. She forced herself not to look for very long for fear that someone would notice her discomfort. She spotted Harry toward the front and quickly made her way to sit next to him.

The raven-haired boy was so wrapped up in his Potions textbook that he only greeted her with a nod and a simple “hey.”

For a brief moment, she panicked, thinking that maybe he had somehow found out already. But then she remembered that, if that were the case, his anger would manifest in ways far more violent than the silent treatment.

How does one start a conversation like this? How do you tell your best friend you’re dating his worst enemy? How do you flat-out lie to your best friend? How do you handle the guilt that is sure to follow?

Professor Flitwick was calling the class to attention before she had collected her thoughts well enough to say anything. It would have to be during the lesson, she concluded. They were set to be working on Glamour charms. These were the spells that could be used to alter the appearance of simple physical features: making cheeks rosier, hiding blemishes, or changing hair and eye colors. Most girls in their year wanted to learn the charm so they could improve their appearance. Hermione wouldn’t deny that the charm had many uses. This lesson was one of the most anticipated lessons of the semester for these reasons.

As always, Professor Flitwick began with a demonstration of the wand movements before coaching them through what phrase to say. They were set to practice by attempting to change the color of the hair on a doll’s head. Once each pair succeeded, they were encouraged to attempt to change their partner’s hair color.

Unfortunately, Harry and Hermione had already made it to this stage before the witch could summon enough courage to broach the subject of dating Malfoy. Well, she was aided in part by him talking about the Slytherin, first. Harry was on another one of his Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater bends.

“I can’t believe Flitwick is teaching us this spell.”

“Professor Flitwick, Harry,” corrected Hermione with a stern look.

“Don’t you think this is bad? He’s teaching Malfoy how to disguise himself. And, not to mention, any other junior Death Eaters there are sleeping in the Dungeons.”

Instead of the light brown shade Hermione was intending, Harry’s hair turned a violent shade of dark red at her Glamour. _Bugger,_ she thought. _Damn emotional magic._

Harry still hadn’t been successful at changing the color of her hair from its usual brown. He lowered his wand as he looked in the mirror at his new appearance, then her annoyed expression aimed at him.

“Oi, Hermione. What’s with the red?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You’re being ridiculous Harry, there aren’t any Death Eaters in the dungeons,” Hermione asserted. She could feel her frustration and annoyance abounding in her veins. She needed to control her temper if she wanted to have this conversation calmly.

“Oh, you’re right. I think the Snakes have Defense right now–

“Will you shut it, Harry?!” It came out louder than she intended and leaked more of her anger than she wanted.

Some of the nearby Gryffindors were staring. The feeling made her wonder if this is what zoo animals felt like all the time.

Noticing the attention, Harry refocused his wand on Hermione’s hair despite in an attempt to show that they were focused on work. She still saw his shoulders growing tense.

“Do you have a problem, Hermione?” Harry seethed through clenched teeth, his white-hot anger radiating.

“Yes, in fact, I do.” _It’s now or never, like a bandaid,_ she thought. _I’m a Gryffindor_. “Harry, You’re not going to like it, but I have something to tell you.”

“Fine then, get on with it.”

Her heart was pounding so hard, she thought that he surely must be able to hear it, even over the loud chatter of students around them.

“I’m dating Malfoy, er, Draco, I mean–

Hermione barely had time to duck before the white beam that shot from Harry’s wand would have hit her. Instead, Seamus’ hair ignited in a smouldering puff of smoke as he took the Glamour-gone-wrong that was intended for her head.

“You’re WHAT?!?”

“Blimey, Harry!” Roared the Irishman’s heavy voice.

Harry was completely unapologetic. His eyes were fiercely on her and he had stood from his seat, sending his chair toppling over backward.

“Ahh, Mr. Potter, I think you may want to return to practicing on the doll,” quavered Professor Flitwick’s high-pitched voice. “Mr. Thomas, would you please escort Mr. Finnegan to the hospital wing? It should be an easy fix.”

Harry’s eyes never left their place on Hermione’s, “You may want to send Hermione, too, sir. She’s gone off her trolley, barking mad.”

“Harry, I have no–

 _“Malfoy,_ Hermione?!” His name came out of the red-headed-Harry’s mouth dripping with revulsion. He set his wand down roughly on the table. She saw the simple action for what it was: a conscious attempt to make sure he didn’t curse her.

“Mr. Potter–

But the little, old professor cut himself off at Harry’s apologetic, pleading glance. Harry was thankful that some professors understood that sometimes, students need to work through their problems on their own. Still, he returned his piercing glare. Hermione wouldn’t dare look away from the furious face of her best friend, but she knew everyone was looking at them now. Every sixth-year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw was listening in.

“Yes, Harry,” she tried. “He isn’t that bad actually. We’ve been spending lots of time together–

Harry’s green eyes flashed instantly to the back of the classroom, surely looking for Ron. She hoped that his face looked equally enraged but dared not to look.

“Sorry, Professor,” Harry’s voice volunteered confidently. “We’ll get back to work.”

Hermione also muttered a soft apology as, to her astonishment, Harry sat down with a cool sense of calm. Or so she thought.

The moment the class returned back to work, Harry cast a Muffliato and rounded on her once again. “So Ron wasn’t joking?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The other night, after the Quidditch match, he came back to our dormitory ranting about something I couldn’t understand. I caught your name and ‘holding hands' and I thought you two had finally gotten together or something, but then I thought I heard him say ‘Malfoy,’ too and I was too confused to put it all together.”

She didn’t miss that he’d said ‘finally gotten together’ as if he had been expecting that too. Hermione couldn’t think about that line of thought now, though.

“Why now?” Harry implored. “If you’ve been hanging around him all term, why come out with it now?”

“I didn’t want to get in the way of our little trio. None of us had ever really dated, and especially because it was Malfoy, I wasn’t sure how you would take it,” explained Hermione, mentally hating herself for the lie.

“What changed then?”

“Well, when Ron kissed Lavender, you– you seemed okay about it, I just thought that it would be okay if I dated, too.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was necessary. It was a flavor she assumed she should get used to.

“I don’t care if you date in general, but not _Malfoy._ ”

She shook her head, “That’s not your decision to make.”

“He’s bad for you. He’s not a good guy. He’s manipulative and rude and… He’s probably using you, Hermione. You know how his lot is. They’re vindictive and abusive and–

“I assure you, Harry, I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision to make and my decision only. I like Draco.” She forced herself to blush while maintaining the sincerity and fierceness of her facial expression. His given name felt weird on her lips. “He’s been really nice to me all term. He’s respectful and a gentleman and yes, he can be the ultimate snarky prat sometimes, but not in the awful way he used to be. I. Like. Him.”

It felt odd to be defending Malfoy’s character, but it felt even odder to realize that it was all honest. Well, other than liking him, of course.

“But He’s a Death Ea–

“Harry.” It was stern and her lips were spread into a thin line. Her eyes were strong and unblinking as she demanded his focused gaze. “Not another word about my boyfriend.”

At that, Harry finally shut up.

Guilt for lying to two of her best friends tried to consume the witch but she pushed the feeling deep down refusing to let it ruin the plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ahhhh lies... How great, how terrible, and how importantly moving for my plot. Forgive me, I think it is only fitting that Hermione and Draco are a little awkward around each other at first. After all, most school-age relationships begin that way, even without the added element of mutual hate. I hope you enjoyed the first taste of our couple, much, MUCH, more is to come – I promise. 
> 
> Love to Rachelletwin2 and gray-jedi-scavenger-rey for helping me with this chapter. Rachelletwin2 is so patient with my last-minute edits (I've had this written and proofed for months but decided to move things around at the last minute). As always, any remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> I've been asked why I sometimes use British English and sometimes use American spellings/terms so I thought I'd put an explanation out here. I'd love for it to be all one way or another, but I also want to keep it realistic for the characters in the story (they're British, after all). I am from the United States but attended University in England, so some little things I am better at catching than others. In all honesty, I switch between the two in my real-life essays, emails, and texts all the time. So, sorry. If you have a strong preference or would like to brit-pick for me, send me a message. 
> 
> Please read and review! 
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	6. Nerves

Chapter Six: Nerves

Ginny was right. Even the professors knew by six O’clock that evening that Hermione and Draco were a couple. To confirm that the rumors were, in fact, true, Draco gathered Hermione from the Gryffindor table at the end of dinner and carried her books for her as they exited the Great Hall with 300 pairs of eyes on them. Together.

Once outside the hall, he still carried her books.

They took the long way around the castle as they headed to the library. He suggested that they should let people see them out and about in order to confirm the rumors everyone had been talking about. She felt that this was a little more than what she expected from their fake relationship, but perhaps his ideas had some merit. Perhaps, the best way to fool everyone they were really together would be to do things that real couples would do. So, they talked about their days and nothing in particular as they meandered through the crisscrossing halls of the castle, the library being their ultimate destination.

Hermione was pleased that he let her choose what books on vanishing cabinets would be most helpful– she did have more experience in the library, tucked in between the shelves, than any other student – but she was even more thankful and surprised when Malfoy turned up his debonair charm with Madam Pince so that Hermione could check out the books without them being seen. Both of them weighed down by a reasonably-sized stack of books, the two made their way to their office in the Room of Requirement where they could work on Malfoy’s part of the deal.

Draco sat at the desk reading while Hermione was splayed out across the couch scanning four books at once when she decided she wanted to talk about the physical contact they’d had earlier and the ‘practice’ idea she had.

He stared at her for a full two minutes before clarifying, “You want to practice holding hands?”

It sounded silly when he said it like that.

“Not just holding hands, Malfoy, but all of it. I know you’ve been around with several girls, but I haven’t really had a boyfriend before. There was Viktor in fourth year but that was mostly dancing and a few kisses at the Yule Ball. It seems so different this way,” the brunette confessed, tying her crazy curls into a loose bun.

He continued to stare at her in disbelief. “You are incredibly ridiculous, you know that? Sixteen years old and you still get nervous holding someone’s hand! You can’t have a panic attack when I go to kiss your cheek.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide when he talked about kissing. This was going to be harder than she thought.

He stood up in a huff, running his hand over his face and through his hair.

For a moment, she wondered if he was second guessing this whole thing, the arrangement they had made the previous night. She supposed it wasn’t too late to back out of it; he’d suffer very little damage, but breaking off their relationship when it was so new would make her look like a complete idiot.

_“Did she think Malfoy actually wanted to date her?”_ They would whisper. “ _She scared him away after just one night!”_ It would do little to defile his playboy reputation, but it would crush her own. _Silly girl, surely she knew no one wanted her?_

Torn from her anxious thoughts, the Gryffindor witch watched as Malfoy began to move.

His prestigious leather shoes made sharp noises as they clinked along the floor. The look in his eyes was forceful and focused as his gaze drifted to where her hands rested on her lap.

Before she could protest, having understood his intent, Malfoy had reached out, and grabbed her hand, and refused to let go.

“Scoot over,” he demanded. “We’re not going to leave until you’re more comfortable with this. I won’t have you blow this whole thing up on day two.”

The witch blinked before complying, allowing him to sit beside her. He moved closer so that their legs were barely touching. The elephant in her heart was stomping around making it almost impossible for her to hear him when he pleaded quietly, “please... trust me.”

Hermione was unable to speak so she nodded.

Gently and ever so respectfully, Draco reached his arm around her rigid shoulders and pulled her close to his chest. He kept his breathing steady like a cadence, willing hers to settle down, too. The smell of pine again filled her nose, something she supposed would always be signature to the blonde. She also noticed something that reminded her faintly of cobblestone, or the Black Lake, after it rains.

He held her there, resting on his shoulder, legs touching, her hands resting nervously in her lap.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised. “This will help you get comfortable around me.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

But inside Hermione’s mind, everything was all but fine. It took monumental self-control to keep from squirming away from him for those three, silent and uncomfortable minutes. 

This all felt so wrong to her. She wanted for this to feel comfortable, she wanted to be able to pass this relationship off as real. She wanted everyone to know that Hermione Granger was a girl worth dating. If she was someone worthy of Draco Malfoy, rumored Sex God, surely other boys would come to recognise her as more than a brain, too.

But she didn’t need everyone to notice her, she only wanted Ron.

She wondered why sitting like this with Draco made her feel so uneasy. She’d done the same thing with Harry over summers at the Burrow, casually sharing a blanket while the Weasleys played exploding snap. She’d been comforted by Fred, too, in fourth year after her horrible experience at the Yule Ball. She’d even leaned against Seamus this way in the common room when the Irishman had somehow gotten a hold of muggle whiskey and took to flirting with her. However, she felt more of sisterly love for each of these Gryffindors.

Maybe that was it. She didn’t feel anything for Malfoy. Not like she would ever harbor romantic feelings for the Slytherin, _that would be ridiculous_. But she didn’t even like him in a friendly way. She barely even knew him.

Perhaps she should try to get to know him better, seeing as they were supposed to be a couple. It would only be a matter of time before Ginny started asking questions about Malfoy and about their relationship. When that time came, she’d have to have answers.

“You know, umm,” Hermione started, craning her neck to meet his grey eyes. “Maybe we should get to know each other a bit, too.”

He sounded annoyed at her question but met her eyes all the same. “I’ve known you since the very first day of first year, Granger.”

“Well technically, sure. We know each other but I’ve only just realized that I don’t know much about you at all,” she countered.

“I have no intention of learning your favorite color,” Draco sneered. 

With a noisy huff, Hermione tried to separate herself from the Slytherin’s grasp. “You are infuriating, Malfoy. How in the world is this going to work if we’re constantly arguing?”

The Slytherin chuckled at her frustration. “There is not a world where you and I don’t argue,” he teased pulling her body back into his hoping it would frustrate her more.

She shoved him away from her, choosing to stand instead, looking down on him allowing her the mock stance of authority. “Our friends are inevitably going to ask us questions, at least I’m sure Ginny will be curious. Don’t you think we should have answers for when the time comes? We can’t play a couple if we don’t know each other! It also might help me be more comfortable around you, don’t you think...”

Her speech continued, but the blonde tuned her out. After dozens of classes over the last six years, Draco had come to accept Hermione’s long-winded, rambling answers. The witch was book smart, but if she hadn’t memorized a definition directly from the text or if she was called to explain anything of her own thoughts, she became a wordy mess. He knew she was too stubborn to let this silly idea drop, he’d have to give into it, but that didn’t mean he needed to listen to her whole rant.

“Okay, if it will help, we can get to know each other better, ask each other questions and all that, but the moment you ask a question that I’m uncomfortable answering, we’re done with this little game. Alright?”

“Alright, that’s fair,” she happily agreed. 

Draco rose from the couch and took her hand in his for the second time that night. “If we’re not going to do any reading or cabinet fixing, we should at least build our status as a couple. Let’s take a walk, somewhere public.”

She looked surprised, not at his hand holding hers, but at his suggestion. “That’s actually a good idea.”

“Of course it is, I’m brilliant!” he boasted.

She simply laughed and hid her eye roll.

Draco and Hermione made their way into the drafty castle. They decided to cast a muffling spell around them so they could keep their conversation private even when they were near others.

“Okay, what do you want to know? Ask me something,” Draco prompted, smiling ever so slightly as wrapped his arm around her shoulder for show. They were near Gryffindor Tower, meaning they’d cross paths with a few third or fourth year students every few minutes. They decided to make their way toward the Dungeons so they could stroll past each of their houses, but they could take their time. 

Like the night they first met in the kitchens, Draco appreciated the distraction that this witch and their fake relationship was. These past three days were the first that he hadn’t worked on the cabinet since he’d gotten to Hogwarts and he could see his mind becoming clearer, his thoughts becoming less busy.

Hermione took a moment to ponder before asking, “What do you do to relax?”

“I fly,” Draco answered without hesitation. “The different perspective and feeling of having total control, even for a few moments, is really calming.”

She smiled, “That’s exactly what Harry would say.”

“What would you say?” 

“Flying is awful and you are crazy for putting yourself in such danger! Trusting an object with your life is hardly a good idea. I usually go for a walk when I need to relax, get fresh air. Sleeping helps sometimes for those really taxing moments. Sometimes I read,” she took a moment to laugh at herself, “Surprise, surprise. I let myself get lost in the worlds, the lives, the problems of other people.”

“I should have known,” Draco teased. “What is your favorite school subject?”

“That one is tough. Maybe Ancient Runes, but I also like Charms. Both are fun in different ways,” she reasoned.

He simply nodded, letting his hand rub circles along her shoulder.

“If you were an animagus, what would your form be?” the witch asked.

“Wait, you’re not going to ask me what my favorite subject is? I thought that was how this would work,” Draco asked, laughing.

“Normally, yes,” she answered, “But I already know your favorite subject so there’s no point in me asking.”

“Oh you do, do you? What is it then?” the blonde challenged, that characteristic Malfoy smirk landing on his face.

“Potions, of course! It’s the only class you’re better than me at,” Hermione mumbled the ending.

“You’re only half right, with that one. Yes, I’m top at potions, but it isn’t my favorite. I like Arithmancy,” explained Draco casually.

“Arithmancy?”

“Yes, why the tone of surprise? There isn’t much about Malfoy Enterprises that I like, but I do enjoy working with the numbers of it all. There’s no grey area with Arithmancy,” Draco said.

“You’re excited to run the family business then?” she asked kindly, but he still momentarily steeled himself. He hated talking about his family. He hated that people brought it up so casually and envied those who didn’t have the problems discussing it like he had. He couldn’t escape it and he couldn’t escape the witch next to him.

Collecting himself, Draco responded, “I’m not sure if I’m excited really. The business is the one thing I can’t really escape from being a Malfoy. It’s been in my family for over a century. I don’t intend to run it like my father, though. I’ll find something useful to pour my money into as soon as it’s all mine.”

“It must be nice to have a plan. We’re less than two years away and I still have no idea what I want to do after we graduate.”

“You have time,” he said simply. But he wasn’t sure she did.

She smiled at his attempt at comforting– if you could even call it that. “What is your favorite childhood memory?” asked Hermione.

Draco smiled truly as he remembered the memory. She wondered if she’d ever seen Malfoy smile before. Not smirk, but smile. Probably not.

“I was probably five or six. It was the first time in my life that I remember my father being away. He had to go to France for a few days so it was just my mum and I. The day after he left, she had the elves make me pancakes with chocolate chips in them and we played all sorts of things. She let me fly my toy broom inside and we played tag in the garden. It was so much fun, I did accidental magic for the first time. Mum said I grew a bush twice it’s size to hide me when she got too close. She was so proud and I was so happy about it all. Father has always been strict, even when I was little, so being able to be a kid for once was really liberating. I had Mum to myself and I didn’t have to spend all day reading or being watched over by the house elves. It was the perfect day.”

Hermione, unsure how to respond, squeezed his hand and smiled. The memory was happy, but it carried some sadness, too. His childhood had been far different from hers. She played every day and always got tucked in bed with a kiss and a bedtime story by both parents. For the longest time she considered this normal, but then she met Harry. Even now, Draco physically had both parents, but he was missing out on so much of the love and support parents were supposed to provide. It was heartbreaking.

“That does sound like a really good day,” she chimed, watching his features return to their normal seriousness. “You should smile more often. It looks much better than the smirks and sneers you usually wear.”

“Oh shut it. If I wanted to be complimented, I’d track down Moaning Myrtle or find myself a real girlfriend,” the blonde objected, smoothing over his hair. “What’s your favorite memory?”

“When my father let me ice skate on our little pond; I think I was about nine. I’d just finished a book about a little girl who skated on her pond when it froze over. It sounded so incredible to me, but I’ve always been clumsy. No matter how much I begged, there was no way my parents would let me skate out onto our little pond. One day, I came home from school in a complete state. I was the target of some ghastly pranks in grammar school and this one, in particular, sent me home crying. To cheer me up, my dad took me to get myself skates and he bought some for himself and he led me around the surface of the pond, holding my hands as he skated backwards. I haven't skated since. We’d gone away for the following winter and then I got my Hogwarts letter. I don’t know why it’s my favorite. I’ve tried other memories, but this is the only one that lets me produce my Patronus.”

“You can produce a Patronus?” Draco asked, dumbfounded, likely not having listened to the rest of the story.

“Harry taught us all last year; mine’s an otter,” she explained.

His minor jealousy impacted his tone to his dismay, “It’s a shame none of the Slytherins were invited to your little Defense club. We didn’t learn anything last year.” 

“Well, it’s a shame you tried so hard to get us caught!” 

“Whatever, just ask another question,” Draco demanded.

Hermione took a thoughtful look around the room before returning her eyes to his grey ones. She took a breath. “When did your beliefs on blood purity change?”

She waited for him to declare this game over. Hermione had pondered this question over the last few days in her head but finally had the opportunity to ask him.

“Third year,” he paused, not planning to elaborate. The truth was, he wasn’t totally sure how to explain it. It didn’t happen overnight, nor even over the course of a single year. Lots of little moments, together, helped him see that blood is all the same. But how do you tell that to the girl you put down for years for this very debate?

She didn’t ask for more. She didn’t say anything at all. She simply bobbed her head, sending curls springing in every direction. She smiled, too. The very fact that she wasn’t pressing him for more information made him want to tell her.

It was an unfamiliar feeling and he wondered, in the back of his mind, if this was what manipulation felt like.

His voice started before he knew what he was saying, “It was when you punched me. And it was lots of little reasons, little things I noticed here and there that stirred the ideas in my head. I’d been taught, drilled even, about how muggleborns were not real wizards, not worthy of their magic. But then one beat me in every single class. She beat everyone. And then she punched me. It was just so – I don’t know, Granger, don’t flatter yourself. It all just made me think about what made a person a good person, a wizard a good wizard, what made a witch a good witch. At some point, I came to the conclusion that it had nothing to do with blood.”

His testimony weighed on her. Was it really her that had changed his mind? That was a lot of pressure, but also a significant compliment. “If you ever need a reminder that I’m not trash, I can – and will – punch you again,” she laughed, trying to keep the mood light.

“We’re dating now, you might want to avoid punching me. What would our audience think?” He forced a polite laugh too, appreciating her not making his little confession a bigger deal than it needed to be.

They walked in silence for a bit. Hermione waved at Dean and Seamus as they walked past. The inseparable boys offered to escort her back to Gryffindor as if trying to save her from her present company. She politely rejected them, explaining that she’d had an overwhelming day and thought a relaxing walk with Draco would put her in a good mood before she goes to sleep. Though they still eyed her suspiciously, Dean and Seamus left them alone to continue their walk.

Draco asked the next question, “Do Gryffindors talk about me in the common room?”

“Much too often,” the witch admitted, trying to pull her sweater more around her. “Mostly Harry. He always has a new theory that proves why you’re evil or a new reason why you’re a git,” she laughed with a shake of her head.

“Potter is the git, not me,” Draco defended.

“Does my name come up in your common room ever?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “None of the girls would shut up for weeks after Yule Ball about how unfair it was that Krum asked you and why he should have asked someone prettier.” He shook his head at that fact. “ They were just jealous. Then sometimes, you get dragged into our ‘Potter stinks’ conversations simply by being his friend.”

“Ugh, the Yule Ball seems to be the only reason anyone ever noticed me. Honestly, Viktor wasn’t all that much of a catch,” Hermione claimed.

“That’s probably why he picked you. All of the other witches doted on him too much, but you– you didn’t care that he was famous.”

“Maybe,” she eased into his side as they walked. Something about their conversation had made her more comfortable around him. He wasn’t sure when, but at some point, she had begun to absentmindedly trace circles on his arm in a way that caused his shirt to gather in small wrinkles underneath her touch. It wasn’t something she consciously did, no, but it did tell him one thing: her guard had fallen, or shrunk at the very least. He wasn’t sure why, but something about that small victory was comforting.

It was Draco’s turn again. “Have you read that book I gave you? I know I only gave it to you this morning, but the way you’re always nose-deep in a new story, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

She playfully hit his shoulder, ruffling his perfectly laundered cloak. “You say it like reading is a bad thing,” she huffed. “But yes, I read it. Not today, but over summer. Why did you pick a Shakespeare story?”

“I thought that would have been obvious, of course.” Hermione’s look showed clearly that she didn’t follow. “It’s all about lies and deception, tricking the world to fulfill a purpose.”

He seemed so pleased with himself for that careful, purposeful gift. She had to agree that sharing a book was a brilliant way to ease the school into their relationship. It was normal enough to be believable. It was real. It was brilliant. 

“I suppose that makes sense,” she agreed.

They continued to walk in silence. Hermione was thankful for the warmth Draco provided because she’d forgotten her cloak.

“What is your biggest regret?” she asked out of nowhere.

“I don’t want to answer that, so I think this fun little game is over.”

Instead of arguing or protesting, Hermione nodded and removed his arm from around her shoulder choosing to hold his hand instead. The sudden drop in warmth was uncomfortable, but this seemed more appropriate. This whole game, hanging out with Draco, his arm wrapped around her tightly… it was starting to feel normal. That would be enough for the night.

“Okay, then I suppose we should start heading back to Gryffindor tower. It is getting late anyway,” she suggested, slowly coming to a stop in the second-floor Transfiguration corridor. Her voice shook slightly having been affected by the drafty halls of the ancient castle.

“All those brains in your head and you can’t remember to bring a cloak?” chided Malfoy. Once again, his arrogance was overwhelming. Just when they were starting to have a normal conversation, he had to insult her.

She should have expected it, really. It had been far too long since his last mocking comment.

She simply rolled her eyes in his direction, wishing she had both hands free to rub her arms and warm them up. One would have to do.  “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Merlin forbid the Brightest Witch of Her Age isn’t perfect. She forgot her cloak! Such a scandal!”

A chuckle threatened to escape Malfoy’s lips, but he managed to hide it well. Only a faint smirk slipped through.

_Yes, getting a rise out of Granger would_ _always_ _be fun._

Draco released her hand so he could untie his cloak.  “Here, I know you’re cold,” he said, draping the warm garment around her shoulders. “I’ll walk you back.”

Like the night this whole thing started, when he offered his hand to help her up, this was another one of those actions that shocked her. She pulled the fabric around her, pleased with the warmth that spread throughout her body.

“Thank you,” she said, and she meant it.

The stiffness of discomfort fell between them once again like a thick fog. He nodded his acknowledgement of her thanks before taking her hand again. She let him pull her forward gently as he led her back toward the Gryffindor Tower.

His cloak was heavier than her own, and warmer, too. It was much too big for her, feeling more like being wrapped in a blanket than wearing an extra jacket. But, surprisingly, that feature was kind of comforting.

It smelled like a forest of evergreens.

“You’re slow Granger,” called Draco, unceremoniously yanking her forward with a lurch.

“Hey! You’ll have to call me Hermione now if we’re dating and all, don’t you think? And I’m not slow! I’m simply a foot shorter than you and I have little legs.”

“You’re still slow,” he insisted.

Hermione let out a frustrated breath but hurried to quicken her pace, allowing her arm to hang comfortably rather than being pulled tight.

A comfortable silence carried them up the many stairs. The couple hovered awkwardly outside the portrait hole, neither of them sure how to conclude an evening stroll as a fake couple.

“I need to finish my translation for Runes tomorrow,” Hermione started nervously. “Will you join me? After dinner again?”She looked down at her feet twiddling a lock of curls that had fallen from their place while waiting for a response.

She’d never read a book that told her how fake relationships were supposed to work. She was in uncharted territory and she couldn’t help the uncomfortable, insecure feelings that came with it.

“Sure,” he glanced around their immediate space and noticed that the Fat Lady’s eyes were unabashedly staring at them. “That sounds nice,” he added.

With a shy smile, a gentle squeeze of his hand, and an awkward glance back, Hermione disappeared into her common room, leaving Draco to walk back to the dungeons alone. Alone and cold, because he’d gotten halfway down the fifth-floor corridor before he realized Hermione had taken his cloak.

_Ugh, the damn thing was going to smell like her, wasn’t it?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Again, thanks to my fantastic betas for helping me with this story. As always, any faults that remain are my own. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	7. Haven

Chapter Seven: Haven

They were a quiet couple. The immediate shock that swept the castle had died down after nearly two weeks. Most people no longer stopped to stare at Draco and Hermione as they walked from class to class. Some did. Some older students would always be curious as to how this strange couple transpired.

The Slytherins were most outspoken about it, especially Pansy. She threw a fit and refused to talk to Draco until he broke it off, but that was fine by him.

Draco explained to his friends the appeal of the incredibly intelligent witch. He put on a show, raving about her boldness and her kindness whenever another snake questioned him. He was attracted to the challenge that Hermione was – or so he told people. He would tell Blaise and Greg that they argued constantly (which wasn’t a lie) and he found a totally agitated and uninhibited Granger alluring (which also wasn’t totally a lie).

Draco wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he really did find the brunette attractive when she stopped being uptight. It usually happened when she started pulling her hair up. It meant she was done being awkward for the night and was starting to be comfortable around him.

Over the weeks, this point in their night had gotten earlier and earlier.

She no longer flinched away from his hand. She automatically sat with him in most classes and sometimes at the Slytherin table for meals. She’d make jokes with the other snakes and he could see a friendship forming between his witch and Tracy Davis.

Occasionally, she would make notes on his essays without asking. She smiled more often with him – her natural smile, not the fake one she got by with at first.

Draco discovered that Hermione had an entertaining sense of humor. He quickly learned that she was smart enough to understand his sarcasm and she wasn’t afraid to send clever quips his way, especially when they were with his Slytherin friends. He found that she could be downright ruthless when she felt she had something to prove, but he didn’t mind. It made the other Slytherins like her more, which was no doubt helpful in keeping their relationship believable.

It got easier and easier to pretend the more they spent time together. Sometimes he even forgot they were pretending. It had only been once or twice when she was laughing at something he’d said, but he quickly reminded himself this was Hermione Granger, the Supreme Bookworm, he was thinking about and that he was being ridiculous.

Being a fake couple became easier.

Unfortunately, even though Hermione’s relationship with Draco had become easier, the same couldn’t be said for the other factors in her life. Today had been dreadful the way Hermione looked at it. It had been one frustrating event after another so that she never seemed to get a break from awkward situations or frustrating conversations.

Harry had asked Professor McGonagall to keep her after transfiguration earlier that morning to ‘check on her mental state.’ Despite her best efforts, her loyal friend still thought that Hermione was insane, or perhaps, Imperiused.

Then Ginny had come to her crying before lunch because she’d had another fight with Dean. This time, it was something about not wanting her to sit by the younger Gryffindor boys in her classes even though she ‘absolutely hated’ everybody else. _Always something silly_ , Hermione thought. “Just break up with him,” she suggested. Ginny stomped away.

Then she had eaten lunch at the Slytherin table, which was becoming the new normal for Hermione. But today, Draco had tried to mess with her by letting his hand sneak far higher than approved up her thigh, causing her to jump out of her skin right as Snape walked by. The professor gave Draco detention (for the first time ever it appeared), which caused Draco to be in an absolutely sour mood for the rest of the afternoon.

It was a half hour after dinner and Draco was still being rather snappy. After they’d finished eating, the couple found a table to share in the library where they could work on homework before going up to their office to do more research on vanishing cabinets.

Even in the sanctuary that was the library, the pounding sensation in Hermione’s head had grown stronger. But of course, her downward-spiral of a day had not yet reached its end.

From her spot across from Draco, Hermione huffed at her bag as she rummaged through its depths looking for something. With a final loud, “ugh,” she threw her bag onto the table, knocking over his inkpot and causing a mess.

Noting her agitated state, Draco decided to ignore her outburst and simply clean up the mess with a wave of his wand.

“I’m sorry, Draco. That was reckless of me,” the curly-haired witch sighed her apology.

He waved it off with her hand. “What’s got your knickers in a twist this time?”

Her glare was only half-hearted, but he appreciated the attempt. “I’ve lent my transfiguration notes to Harry and haven’t gotten them back. I’m going to have to go get them and meet up with you later.”

He nodded in understanding and placed a gentle kiss on her rosy cheeks before she set off to find Potter.

 _It’s been one thing after another today,_ Hermione thought as her headache reached an all-time high. Still, she climbed her way up the never-ending staircases to Gryffindor Tower, hoping Harry would be there with her notes.

When she stepped through the portrait hole, however, she could not spot Harry anywhere. Annoyance growing, she continued to walk through the room and eventually decided to check their dorms. When she reached the top of the stairs and stepped through the door, she immediately wished she hadn’t.

Just in front of her, Lavender Brown was shirtless and laying on top of a tall boy with undeniably red hair as they tried to eat each other.

“Oh, sorry,” she professed, face flushing and hand reaching up to cover her scarred eyes in an attempt to hide the wetness that began on the tips of her lashes. She started turning toward the staircase.

“What is she doing here?!” Lavender shrieked at her boyfriend and ignoring the witch who still stood there, shielding her eyes.

“Leaving,” Ron said sternly, flashing a dangerous look at his once best friend.

His voice took its toll on her emotions, making those pesky drops of salty water clinging to her lashes a little bit heavier. The first time she’s heard Ron’s voice in three weeks and he berated her like she was a defiant child.

“I was looking for Harry,” her voice managed.

“Well, he isn’t here!” Ron shouted probably with more malice and threat than he intended. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Tears were so close to spilling over now, but she kept her hands up in front of her eyes to block the couple’s view. She’d seen Ron get defensive over her before. She’d seen him get jealous. She’d seen him angry and she’d been on the receiving end of his criticisms and hurtful words before, but not once in their five years of being friends had he properly raised his voice at her.

She tried again to remove herself from the room as she muttered, “obviously, I see that now, Ronald.” It only had a slight bite to it, but it was all the anger she could find.

“You don’t have the right to just go barging into people’s rooms, Hermione,” the redhead scolded. Hermione uncovered her eyes to watch as Ron abandoned his girlfriend on the bed with furious steps directly toward the spot where she was rooted by the door. The feelings that welled up in Hermione’s stomach weren’t sadness or pain anymore. This – this was rage.

She shook a stray curl out of her face, rage bringing a glow to her cheeks. “You’ve never had a problem with me coming up here before unannounced!” She took a brief moment to appreciate the absolutely green look that consumed her roommate, who was still laying on the bed half-decent.

“Oh, sure, why don’t you shout that louder so they can hear you down in the dungeons. I’m sure your ferrety, wanker, boy toy of a boyfriend would love to hear you say that,” spat Ron, disgust clearly showing all over his face.

“Don’t bring Draco into this.”

In most moments, using Draco’s given name still felt wrong on her tongue. But sometimes, it flowed easily and felt natural. Sometimes, she didn’t even think about it.

This instance had been one of those unconscious, thoughtless moments where it almost felt like she’d been saying his given name for years. It was the familiarity in her voice, she thought, how easily it had rolled off her tongue in a defensive tone that sent Ron’s face into a reddening, blotchy direction where his sour expression seemed bigger and angrier.

“Things are different now, Hermione! That was before I had a girlfriend!” He shouted fiercely. “We- we could have been naked!”

“Shut the curtains next time!” With a jab of her wand, Hermione spelled the curtains on the bed shut, closing a whining Lavender behind them. She shrieked to be let out, but Hermione continued to shout, unlistening and uncaring. “Put up wards! Lock the door! Tell your friends you need privacy! Do neither of you have brains? Seriously, you could have done so many simple things to ensure you wouldn’t be bothered.”

With the fury of an insulted Hippogriff, the redhead invaded her personal space, forcing her to take several steps back to escape his warpath. His shouts shook the tower. “I’m not daft! I’m not a bloody idiot! I may not be as clever as you, but I’m not completely lost like you make me out to be all the damn time.”

Distracted by the disdain in his voice, her spell weakened slightly, allowing Lavender’s smug face and tacky red bra back into Hermione’s view.

“Surely you don’t think this is my fault, stumbling upon the two of you! Don’t you think you could have done something to keep people from coming up here?”

“I did, Hermione! I told my friends not to come up here.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t tell me anyth–

“Don’t you get it? We’re not friends anymore!”

She shot him the coldest look she could fabricate and laced her words with a coolness that she usually associated with Draco, “Oh well that’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard! We’ve been best friends for six years, Ron! You get a girlfriend and I get a boyfriend and suddenly we can no longer be friends? Is that how it works? I’ve never heard something more ridiculous–

“It has nothing to do with dating!”

But Hermione and her extensive memory didn’t believe him. “You did the same thing last time! I went on one little date with Viktor and you had to go and blow _everything_ out of proportion. We didn’t talk for ages then! How is this any different?”

“Simple, I cannot be friends with someone who doesn’t believe in me.”

At that statement, Hermione fumed. Her current state of fury surpassed each and every past argument they’d ever had.

She saw red.

“I don’t believe in you? Who’s been there beside you through everything the past five years? Who has been at every Quidditch game? Hell, I even went to tryouts! I’ve seen you face Death Eaters. I’ve seen you face ravenous half-dog murderers. You braved your biggest fear -to save me, might I add - and you’ve stolen a flying car. I’ve seen you sacrifice yourself in the best game of wizard’s chess ever played, yet you think I don’t believe in you? You don’t think I know you’re capable of anything when you set your mind to it?

“No, Ronald. You’d rather throw away five years of friendship just to spite me. You’d rather throw all of this away for a blonde bimbo that thinks the sun shines out of your arse and Divination is an honorable topic of study. You’d rather let your inferiority complex drive you to a point of insane, unnecessary anger. You always insist on thinking that you’re not good enough and that you’ll never be good enough for the world. How about this: Are Harry and I not enough? Are our friendship and loyalty not enough for you?”

He roughly grabbed her upper arm, shaking her to look at him and ending her rant. She was furious. She was upset. Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“No! No, Hermione, you’re not enough! You’re always thinking the worst of me. My homework is never to your standards, my table manners earn glares, you think I need a lucky potion to block a goal! You’re upset that I chose a witch that’s actually attractive, one that actually finds me interesting, one that actually tells me that she likes me! You always act like I’m the most idiotic person you’ve ever met because it takes me longer to see things logically like you do, but you never let me try! You always spit the perfectly correct answer out with a scoff and a look down your nose in my direction before I can think it through. You explain things to me like I’m a bloody first year and you hide behind your books and cleverness so no one sees how scared you are that you don’t belong. No, I may not be perfect, but you’re the one who no one likes to be around. You’re swotty and opinionated and pushy and obsessive and stubborn and over emotional. You’re the one that’s not good enough, and I think you know it. You know it like you know everything else-”

At the sounds of a loud smack, an anguished grunt, and a deafening shriek, Hermione ran from the boys’ dormitories.

She ran through the common room unaware of the attention she was attracting. She ran down three hallways, four staircases, two more corridors and another set of stairs before she pushed through the double doors and ran out into the barely-there layer of the first snow.

She sat down on a cold, stone bench that paralleled the bank of the Black Lake and peered out at the frigid water.

The bench was tucked up against the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the trees were scattered enough to see through, but dense enough to smell. It was the perfect kind of isolated, much like how she felt. The lake would surely be frozen in a fortnight. She ached to throw rocks at it’s frozen edges so she could watch the ice shatter and break into jagged pieces.

How had she let all of her relationships grow so cold?

She took a few sharp breaths of the icy air hoping that she could keep the tears at bay by sheer force of will.

But she couldn’t.

Ron had been right. She had never been very good at anything. She couldn’t be the girl that had a ton of friends or the girl that boys wanted to date. She couldn’t figure out a single spell or potion that could tame her hair. People only knew her because she was Harry’s best friend and annoyingly brainy. She was the prefect everyone hid from; the girl that single-handedly ruined every party Gryffindor threw just with her existence.

She wasn’t incompetent. She wouldn’t lower herself down to entertaining that thought. No, she was smart and she was capable, but she wondered, _what’s the point of being smart and capable if no one likes it; if no one likes you?_ Ron was right. She couldn’t consider herself good at anything if everything she did turned people away.

As every other failure crossed her mind like a stream of tragic movie footage, the witch failed to hold in the tears.

She cried. Not like the silent tears shed in her bedroom or the sniffling tears she cried when she was overwhelmed. Not the pretty cry one manages when everyone is expecting you to break down, either.

This was the worst kind of cry. The kind where your lips start to shake and the tears build up quickly and fall even faster. The kind when you’re bent over trying not to make any noise but it hurts too much to hold it in so you let out a yelp and an earth-shattering cry.

Then comes the loss of breath which is awfully pathetic because not only are you crying out loud but you think you sound dumb for not breathing, too.

And then you continue this cycle of crying and not breathing until you run out of tears to cry or you run out of air to breathe, and then you’re just sitting bent over, grasping yourself to pretend you have a shred of dignity left and a reason to hold on at all.

This is where Hermione sat, bent over on the same marble bench, arms tucked tightly around her torso, eyes screaming color, angry for they had no tears left to offer for the dying soul of a girl with too much self-loathing.

Tears dry but the pain drowns.

She sat.

It seemed that Merlin himself had made it his personal mission to curse her that day, no doubt punishment for the lies she’d told and the relationships she’d strained.

Dementors seemed to swarm her. Boggarts, too.

Today had been the absolute, unbeatable, most miserable, awful, horrible day ever.

The snow behind her crunched in that telltale way. Gathering her jumper more tightly around her, Hermione sealed herself off from whoever thought it was a good idea to come to try to calm her down. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, look up to face them and add to her already insurmountable self-loathing.

She felt warmth join her on the bench as they sat down beside her. Straining to open her bloodshot eyes, she noticed the shiny, black dress shoes that could only mean Draco, her sodding fake boyfriend.

She wasn’t sure how he found her or why he came to join her in the November cold. Maybe she was late for meeting him in the Room of Requirement. Maybe he wanted to build up their cover. Maybe Dobby had sent him to check on her. Maybe... Maybe he simply cared a little bit about her.

Hermione couldn’t deny the hope that it was the latter. It’s hard to spend almost every day with someone and still hate them.

She couldn’t hate him anymore, she knew that. She would try; she would pretend, but really she was growing quite fond of Draco Malfoy.

Even now, she found his presence calming. He didn’t say anything, and for that she was grateful. He placed a hand on her back and began rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades.

New tears cascaded down her nose to wear more spots in the quickly melting patch of snow in front of her.

She cried for her failure, she cried for her inadequacy, she cried for the lies she’d told and the friendships that were strained. She cried for her mom, who always knew what she needed to hear in moments like this. She cried for Draco, this poor man who she pulled along into her web of lies and heartbreak. She cried for the black eye Ron was sure to sport tomorrow. She cried for all of the characters in her favorite books who’s sadness had been her lifeline in times like this. It wasn’t fair to them. It wasn’t fair to their problems to be burdened by the weight of this witch’s crumbling world. She cried for her freezing fingers and nose and Draco’s willingness to sit by the broken girl with a heart as cold as the weather.

These tears were silent.

She slowly brought her stiff back to its upright position and looked over at the blonde man sitting beside her.

She didn’t expect him to come, but even more, she didn’t expect the deep sadness and concern that consumed his usually stoic features.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He moved his arm around her small shoulders and pulled the tearful witch into him.

She let the cloak he wore float around her body, she let his fingers innocently run laps along her shoulder, and she let them sit there in silence watching the stillness of the lake as more snow slowly fell around them.

That’s what winter is for, after all. Letting your fake boyfriend keep you warm. Keep you from freezing.

They sat in silence for a while just like that before he rubbed his free thumb across her cheeks to brush away the remaining tears. She’d just barely stopped crying. His touch was so gentle and so calming. He let his fingers brush underneath her chin, turning her tearstained face toward his own.

“Don’t ever let anyone do that,” he spoke in a stern voice, though she could hear that it was laced with something shaky and sad.

“Do what?” She asked.

“Take away your happiness without a fight. It’s like killing yourself - except it’s worse because instead of killing your body, you’re killing your soul.” She could hear the strain in his usually steady voice that told her he’d seen this kind of soul murder before.  
Draco bled this vulnerability that he’d never dared to show anyone before.

She knew this wasn’t part of the game they’d waged.

“Oh, it wasn’t without a fight.” A light smile tugged at her brightening cheeks. “I punched the prat square in the eye before I left.”

At first, it was just an unblinking stare, but then his features contorted into something she wasn’t sure she had ever seen. Draco couldn’t help himself, laughter consumed him at the boldness of the witch sitting in his arms. Soon, she began laughing with him, throwing her head back as she considered her dramatic exit.

She laughed at the look on Lavender’s face when her fist collided with her boyfriend’s face. She laughed at the strangled grunt of pain he let slip through his damned lips. She laughed at Lavender’s shrill shriek and at the loud smack that resonated off the dorm walls as the time of impact. She laughed at the irony of the boy she was currently laughing with, him having been the only other object of her nose-breaking punch before. She laughed at the crinkles that formed next to his eyes as they shut, utterly consumed with amusement.

And she continued to laugh for the sheer humor of how horrible her day had been.

But then again, here she was laughing at the end of it, so maybe it hadn’t been all bad after all.

Draco preferred this side of Hermione to the weeping hysterics he’d seen only a few minutes before. This was the version of Hermione Granger that he could get used to. The kind he could fake-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, my readers, my friends... Here is a very emotionally-powerful chapter. This is real, to me. Sometimes we have bad days and sometimes it seems as if everything is against us, and sometimes we cry. I'm sorry if aspects of this aren't what you expected or like, but I wouldn't go this direction if it didn't play a role in a bigger (hopefully good) plot! I will promise that this is not going to be a total Ron-bashing fic. There is much more to come as our plot develops. 
> 
> Beta Love for Rachelletwin2 and soundsoulsoundmindweakbody! Any errors that remain are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	8. Push

Chapter Eight: Push 

 

“Ah, what a delight for you to join me, Mr. Malfoy, I was beginning to think I had written down the wrong time for your detention,” drawled the careful voice of Severus Snape from behind his desk, not bothering to look up from the piss-poor paper he had been grading.

Each word was laced with disdain, a distinct tone Draco was very familiar with having seen the professor scorn many other students, but had never had the displeasure of being the target of Snape’s sneer himself. He swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in his throat, choosing to carry himself like the arrogant, uncaring Malfoy heir he was.

Draco let his expensive leather shoes create loud, rebounding claps as he strode over to the Defense professor’s desk without responding. He sat down, crossing his left ankle over his right knee comfortably and stretching his arms behind his head.

Finally, Snape looked up with a glare that could kill. “You’re late,” he spat.

“Sorry, Sev,” began Draco confidently, “I found some First Years with Skiving Snackboxes and took it upon myself to ensure that our new students know the rules prohibit that sort of behavior. I had to confiscate the contraband products.” He made a show of pulling the small box from his coat pocket and eyeing the sweets. “Fainting Fancy? Could use it to get out of your next meeting with Dumbles, the old bat. Actually, maybe I could-”

He was briefly blinded by an astonishingly orange beam of light that whizzed past his face, halting his one-sided conversation. The student heard the clicking noise that meant the door had been locked. Snape swatted the candies onto the floor roughly, his aggressive actions matching the fury in his dark eyes.

“Cut the incessant babble, Draco, I don’t have time for your childish schemes,” Snape warned. “You may think that you are my equal now that you’ve joined the Dark Lord like your father, but I assure you that the next time you call me something other than ‘Professor’ I will have you cleaning out cauldrons every evening for the rest of the year.”

Draco smirked at his own humor but nodded respectfully nonetheless. His blood was beginning to warm underneath the steady glare of the dark arts professor, but he tried to remain light, his plan to avoid certain unwanted conversations.

“Is that what you’ll have me doing tonight, _professor_?” Draco questioned before flashing that smirk again. “In all five years I’ve been a student, you’ve never assigned me detention so I’m not exactly sure what to expect.”

The older man scowled at him, growing more annoyed by the teen’s mocking tones. Sure, perhaps he had been easy on Draco over the years but the leniency had to end at some point. 

“Yes, I believe your father also felt as if he were above all authority, a quality he has somehow passed along to you despite the principles of evolution that eliminate mankind’s more dreadful qualities,” Snape paused with a sneer.

Snape’s voice stung more with each word that rolled off his tongue, leaving Draco with nothing left to do but sit and take it until he could nurse the wound. “Your childish indiscretions may have been overlooked on many occasions in the past, but not anymore,” continued the professor. “Your father has felt the consequences of his actions, and I implore you to learn from his mistake. In fact, you _must_ if you wish to stay alive.”

A thickness settled in the air at the mention of Draco’s father, just as it always seemed to. The young Malfoy found it more difficult to breathe. His chest tightened more when he remembered that most teenagers don’t feel physical pain when they think about their fathers. Then again, most teenagers didn’t know what it felt like to feel real physical pain at the hands of their fathers, either.

“Draco, I think you know that we have matters far more serious to discuss.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly at the idea, panic finding its home in his body. This is exactly what he had been hoping to avoid. Actually, he had been avoiding Snape all term.

Draco knew what his mother had asked of the professor. Draco knew the man in front of him knew of his tasks. Draco knew that Snape knew exactly who had cursed Katie Bell last month.

Draco knew and he didn’t want to talk about it.

He grasped at nothing, fumbling through ideas of how to further piss off the grumpy man. “More serious than First Years with forbidden substances?” _If I make him angry enough, he may just kick me out,_ Draco hoped. “You must mean quidditch then! Personally, I think that Montague–

“Draco, that is enough!” boomed the professor. “You dare play fool with me? If you plan to distract the Dark Lord with useless ramblings, you’ll be dead before you take a second breath.”

Finally, Draco recognized defeat. His eyes settled on his lap, no longer able to maintain the confident act.

“Have you thought about the task at all?” Questioned the professor in his usual bitter drawl.

“I’ve already told you my ideas, professor.”

“Ideas aren’t enough,” he bit.

“You think I don’t know that?” Draco growled, revealing his annoyance.

“I swore that I would protect you, Draco, and this is not an agreement I have the luxury of ignoring; nor do you.”

The blonde scoffed. “I’m not the one that needs protecting,” he mumbled audibly.

“I know you thought this position and task would give you the authority to protect your mother. I also know you know, that failure to complete this task will end up killing the both of you.”

“There’s no need to tell me this, professor. I know; I’m working on it.”

“You are? Because to me, it seems like your regular distraction of a certain muggleborn witch is keeping you from fixing that cabinet. Am I wrong?” Again, Snape drawled the question, allowing his authoritative voice to fill the room.

“Granger isn’t a distraction,” Draco promised.

“So you aren’t dating the know-it-all?”

“I am, but–

“And you are spending most of your time with her?”

“That’s true, sir, but–

“And have you gotten any further on the vanishing cabinet?”

“She’s helping me with it!” Draco managed to blurt out finally.  
  
The professor gaped at his student, the dumbfounded look unflattering on his usually stern face, but the drawl of his voice held every ounce of intimidation that it usually emanated. “Excuse me?”

“Granger’s helping me mend it,” the blonde explained. “She doesn’t know about the task or what it’s for or that I’ve been marked, but she’s agreed to help me fix the cabinet.”

Snape Blinked. “How in Merlin’s name is that a good idea?”

“Well, they call her the brightest witch of our age. Sure, she can be annoying sometimes, but you can’t deny that she’s brilliant, professor. You’ve seen how she can figure things out. I just figured that if anyone can figure out how to fix a vanishing cabinet, it would be her.”

“So you’ve tricked her into helping you? I must say, I am impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I didn’t need to trick her, she agreed to help,” the blonde defended.

“She agreed to help you kill Dumbledore? I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous. If you’re not done behaving like a first year, you can show yourself out. I will not waste my time with your games.”

“I’ve found I can be very convincing, sir,” Draco tried, not quite sure how to phrase things. He couldn’t exactly tell Snape that his relationship with Granger was fake, but he hadn’t yet thought about what else he could say. “Surprisingly, Granger knows how to be a proper, supportive girlfriend.”

“I thought you were trying to protect your family, not ensure your line ends with you? The Granger girl is nothing more than a filthy muggleborn, Draco, and a bloody Gryffindor, too. You can’t be serious. ”

Draco’s jaw tensed at the comments, but he remained quiet. He crossed his arms across his chest to keep himself from revealing the tinge of anger that those words had brought on. 

He didn’t particularly like Hermione, but he cared for her enough to wish that others would stop defining her by her blood.  He could agree that Gryffindors generally are the most annoying at school, but it wasn’t as if Gryffindor and muggleborn were all that Hermione was. She was far too complex of a witch to simply be defined by those two terms.

Draco wondered why Snape became a professor if he felt such hatred for so many students. It must be a very arduous life to live.

Draco, unable to express his real thoughts on Hermione and her blood, chose not to answer Snape at all. A silence hung between the two for a few moments.

Finally, Snape spoke with a silky voice, “Have you made any progress?”

Well, that was a question that Draco wasn’t quite sure how to answer. They’d read dozens of books and had taken notes on anything and everything that might be remotely useful, but they hadn’t actually done anything with the cabinet itself.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Draco realized that he and Hermione hadn’t stepped foot inside the Room of Hidden Things in weeks.

“Well,” Draco explained, “We’ve done extensive research. We’ve looked at every book about vanishing cabinets that the library has. Restricted section, too.”

“You failed to answer my question,” scolded the professor. “Have you made any improvements to the cabinet?”

He hated this answer and he hated himself the longer he put off saying it. “No, sir.”

Snape ran his hands along his face before leaning forward. His voice was deep and steady, “He wants something done by Christmas, Draco. You need something to report to him.”

“I’m trying, Granger and I– We– work on it every night for a few hours,” defended Draco, beginning to panic.

“No, you _read_ for a few hours every night. That isn’t working. Maybe in Granger’s mind, but the Dark Lord won’t spare your mother in exchange for a well-thought-out essay and color-coded notes. He wants Dumbledore dead.”

At this point, all traces of color had drained from Draco’s already pale face. Somehow, sometimes, he seemed to forget the severity of his position. He’d grown so used to thinking of it as “the task” or “the cabinet,” that somewhere along the line, the actual task itself had been forgotten.

Okay, maybe not forgotten. But definitely overlooked.

Each day was easier to get through when he wasn’t thinking about becoming a murder.

“Draco, the Dark Lord wants to hear a report when you go back to the manor for the holidays. You can expect punishment if his expectations are not met,” Snape warned.

Draco nodded his head stiffly.

“If progress isn’t made by the end of the term, you will set another plan in motion. You will use Madam Rosmerta again.” Snape’s tone was stern and his eyes were set on Draco’s with dark stares.

“But, sir–

“Do not question me you ungrateful, entitled, boy. I do not intend for the ineptitude of a seventeen-year-old fool and his intolerable girlfriend to be my cause of death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Draco’s eyes fell to his lap once again. “Yes, sir,” he resigned.

When Draco left Professor Snape’s office a few minutes later, his mind was swarming with worries. While the punishment of detention left most students frustrated for their wasted time or perhaps a hand strained from hours of writing lines, this lingering, heavy feeling in the pit of Draco’s stomach was much, much worse.

 

* * *

 

The next evening, when Draco and Hermione had returned to their office room for more research, his body was still tense. His detention with Snape had caused an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety to set in his veins. The uncomfortable, electric sensation made him feel as if he needed to run.  As if that would help.

Draco scowled at the mere idea.

His body wanted to run. His mind wanted to do something more than read another bloody book, but here he was, sitting on an ugly couch, Hermione’s mess of curls resting in his lap… and he was reading.

Snape had been right. The deal was made for mutual benefit, but Draco’s ends were far from being met.

From the gossip Draco had heard and the way the chatter around them felt whenever they were in public together, their fake relationship was going rather well. Draco and Hermione spent a lot of time together between studying in the library, eating meals together, walking around the castle, resting by the lake… and of course, their time spent in the Room of Requirement _researching_.

Draco looked down at the witch as she turned the page in her book. He’d stopped reading a while ago but turned his own anyway.

Hermione’s head was resting in his lap, her frizzy hair cascading in every direction across his legs. Her chosen book for the evening, _Dark Artifacts of Wizarding Wars_ , was held lazily above her face as her eyes scanned rapidly across the pages.

Again, she turned the page.

She’d grown much more comfortable with him in the few days after her fight with Weasley, after she cried, after they laughed.

He almost smiled at the small success. Crying witches had never been something he took much interest in. They always seemed to blubber on for hours, far longer than he thought was natural, grasping desperately for attention and sympathy. He’d seen it so many times in the Slytherin Common room from Pansy, he’d quickly learned to see the behaviour for what it was: Manipulation.

But Granger was different. She wasn’t crying for attention, and Draco knew that. He knew that she was perfectly capable of putting herself back together after whatever harsh words Weasley had shouted at her. Granger was fine on her own. She didn’t need anyone, and for that, he had found himself wanting to be there anyway.

Draco mindlessly turned the page in his book.

He wouldn’t say that he really cared for how the Hermione felt, but he wouldn’t deny himself the small wave of pride he felt for having successfully cheered the crying witch up.

Her behaviour over the days that followed, too, was a positive outcome of the whole event. She’d been much more comfortable around him in all aspects. She hadn’t flinched away from his touch all week, even when he’d gone to kiss her cheek in the middle of Transfiguration class despite the fact that they were sitting in the front row and surely, every sixth-year student would see. She seemed less overwhelmed throughout the day and more calm in his presence. Even their conversations now felt more genuine, like she had stopped trying to be careful with what she was saying around him.

Actually, other Slytherins had noticed it, too. Just yesterday, Blaise was telling Draco how fond he was of Draco’s new girlfriend. He found her wit and cleverness extremely entertaining, stating, _“the witches in Slytherin are far too haughty and much too daft to understand my sarcastic humor, let alone join in with it.”_ She had even made a few jokes at Draco’s expense over lunch, to which Blaise had said, _“she’s good for you, mate. Salazar knows you need to be taken down a peg... Or six.”_

Draco wondered if that was exactly what Hermione needed, too.

Had anyone ever checked her swottiness? Anyone besides Snape? Had she ever really been challenged academically? Had anyone ever dared to push her out of that book-shaped comfort zone?

He doubted that the Weasel or Scarface had ever dared to stand up to her about education before. They spent so much time relying on her, asking her to dumb-down the content for them, they couldn’t have pushed her an inch.

From her spot in his lap, Hermione brushed a stray curl out of her face before turning another page. The slow movement of her fingers as she smoothed the the parchment surface across the book set him on edge.

They’d never make any progress if they continued at this unmoving pace.

“Granger, we’ve read more books than there are spaces on these bookshelves. Don’t you think it’s about time we take this to the Room of Hidden Things?” Draco suggested, a slight edge finding its way into his tone.

“No, Draco. We’ve barely found anything of use,” she reminded. “If we try now we’ll simply be wasting our time.”

He scoffed, “Oh, actually doing magic would be a waste of time?” A mocking laugh escaped his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes distastefully. “We haven’t found nearly enough information yet! We would have no idea what to do,” she scolded. She repositioned the thick book in front of her face, blocking him from view.

But Draco was stressed, annoyed, and at least as stubborn as she was.

He pushed the book away from her face roughly, his grey eyes piercing. “Do you even hear yourself? We’ve read hundreds of books that have told us the exact same information in different words. We aren’t getting anywhere.”

Her usual huff rang through the air as she set her current book down and lifted her head from his lap, sitting to meet his tense, strong features on an even plain. “But we still haven’t found anything about mending the passage when we only have one end-”

The blonde wizard hastily stood from the couch. His voice was powerful and loud, the tone he took with Crabbe and Goyle in previous years on the Quidditch pitch when they failed to do anything helpful. “How do you think anything gets discovered if everyone is always relying on books to tell them how to do things?!”

She looked startled by his outburst, unsure about what she had done to bring out this stormy side of him. But he knew.

His frustration with her no doubt fueled by his stress from the task and his depleted reserve of patience.

He took her silence as a reason to push on, jumping at the opportunity to get some of his anger out.

“Do you think Dumbledore discovered the seven uses for Dragon’s blood by reading about dragons? Do you think the wolfsbane potion was invented simply after someone read about the nature of different ingredients? No, Hermione. We cannot sit idly by, waiting for someone else to discover how to fix a broken vanishing cabinet and write about it.”

Hermione shifted in her seat, wiggling the edges of her sleeves in between her fingers. She wouldn’t even make eye contact with him. This simple, common, submissive act was extremely rare for a witch as bold as Hermione Granger. Draco couldn’t tell if he had said something to deeply offend her or if her silence indicated that he had gotten through to her.

He figured it was more likely the latter seeing as her fist hadn’t collided with any part of his body as she was so frequently prone to do.

Draco was pacing in front of her spot on the couch, not caring that he probably looked crazed. Her silence was wearing on him.

This girl needed to be pushed, shoved. She needed to be knocked down off of the mountain of books from which she ruled. Her mind needed to be challenged.

Draco didn’t mind being the one to challenge her.

He’d read a quote last year that stopped him in his tracks and made him rethink where his life was going. He never would have considered himself to have things in common with this Gryffindor princess, but those familiar Oscar Wilde words found their way onto the tip of his tongue.

“‘Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.’”

He couldn’t keep the pain from dripping in his voice. He’d been haunted. He’d always been cast in the shadow of his father. He’d been destined to become the next pureblood supremacist to head the Malfoy family and run the businesses. He’d never thought he had a choice.

That plan that seemed so fated, so inevitable, plagued his mind for years. It wasn’t the life that he wanted for himself.

But Oscar Wilde had other plans for Draco. The poet knew that the pale blonde teenager could do more than relive the pitiful life of his father. Just the same, the poet knew Hermione could do more than read and be bossy.

A still uncomfortable Hermione was now looking at him with a gentle curiosity. He could feel her mind working, probing in between the lines of his recounted words. Her voice was buried deep in her throat, cowering perhaps, and her mind was at a loss of how she could possibly respond to the man in front of her.

Draco breathed again, deciding to take a seat on the couch next to her, but not too close. Picking up the next book in their stack and opening it up to the first page.

Her brown eyes were still stuck on his figure, but Draco understood that he hadn’t won this battle tonight.

“Hermione,” Draco pushed on. Her given name had rolled off his tongue so easily, he hadn't even noticed. “As much as I hate to admit this, you have a mind that could do so much more than what other people tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin22! And thank you for being patient with my weekly chapter update schedule. I promise the chapters coming up are ones you WON'T want to miss!!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	9. Friend

Chapter Nine: Friend

 

“Oi, Granger!”

Hermione was descending the last few steps on the Grand Staircase when she heard someone call her name. She could tell without looking that it was Blaise Zabini. His cool, confident voice dripped charm everywhere he went, leaving his drawl unmistakable. 

“Good morning, Zabini,” She responded with a small but polite smile. 

The pair had an odd type of relationship, falling somewhere between acquaintances and friends. Blaise was handsome and charming, Hermione knew, but all the girls in Hogwarts knew that. He was a master of the art of flattery and he used it well. 

Even though he knew perfectly well that she was dating his best friend. 

She tried to bypass the spot where he stood at the top of the dungeon stairs by making her way into the Great Hall for breakfast, but she hadn’t been so lucky. 

As she neared the doors, Blaise sauntered over to her. It would have been rude and blatantly obvious if she had tried to avoid him further. 

She didn’t mind the Slytherins anymore, at least not most of them, but she felt uncomfortable around them when Draco wasn’t at her side. It felt like she was intruding far too much.  The friendships that were slowly forming were all based on one big lie… and that didn’t sit well with her. 

“Are you sitting with us this morning?” He asked, flashing a bright smile that she was certain had gotten him both in and out of incredible trouble before. 

“Maybe,” she smiled politely again. “I was hoping to find Draco, have you seen him?”

He smirked at her before lightly placing his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the doors to the Great Hall and guiding her to take a step. “Ahhhh, Granger,” he sighed dramatically, “you don’t need that tosser around to hang out with us, you know? No need to pretend you don’t love our brilliant quips and intelligent conversations. Surely you don’t get those at the Gryffindor table, nor with Draco.” 

She slowly walked alongside him, his hand still guiding her shoulder, but rolled her eyes at his words. 

“Stop flirting with my girlfriend, Zabini. She’s out of your league,” Draco joked as he climbed the last stair, though there was a distinct clip to his tone and iciness to his glare. 

Hermione moved away from Blaise, choosing to approach her fake boyfriend like a real girlfriend would. She reached up on her tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. It was the first time she had done it, and despite the fact that he had kissed her in the same way so many times, the simple act made her extremely anxious. 

But with the annoyed look on Draco’s face as he glared at his friend, Hermione thought the action was needed. For show, of course. 

“Out of my league?” Blaise scoffed, shaking off the insult. “You jest, Malfoy. Look who’s talking!” 

“You can insult me all you want, Blaise, but she’s still mine, isn’t she?” Draco smirked smugly at his housemate, pulling Hermione into the crook of his arm, completing the act. 

She smiled. 

Despite the awkward way he had lectured her the night before, Hermione felt much more comfortable wrapped in Draco’s arm than with Blaise’s hand on her back. 

She’d gotten good at acting, she suspected. And he had, too.

Zabini rolled his eyes, settling them on Hermione again. “As I said, Granger, there is always a spot at our table for you.” He shrugged before turning and heading into the Great Hall. His walk carried its usual, exuberant confidence. 

He called over his shoulder as he disappeared, “See you both later!” 

When he had gone, Draco turned to Hermione with an annoyed look on his face. “I’m surprised no one has beaten his arse yet, the way he tries to charm the knickers off of every witch in the castle.” 

“I think he’s just like you, always enjoying getting a rise out of people.”

His loud laugh filled the entrance hall momentarily, causing her to look at him, confused. “That’s ridiculous, Granger. I’m nothing like that idiot.”

Hermione fought the roll her eyes wanted to do, choosing to smile and shrug instead. She’d learned to pick her battles wisely with Draco, simply for the sake of avoiding constant argument. 

“Can I sit with you for Breakfast again?” She asked sweetly. I still don’t feel like seeing Ron, or Harry, or really any of the Gryffindors right now. At least not over breakfast where I’ll have to actually talk to them.” 

Again, Draco’s laugh filled the room. He wrapped his arm around Hermione’s shoulders as he began to lead her into the Great Hall. The gesture came naturally now. 

“Come on,” he sighed. “Just not near Zabini, okay?” The smirk on his face told her he was joking. What kind of fake boyfriend would he be if he didn’t at least pretend to be protective over her? She laughed at their inside joke as they entered the Great Hall. 

As always, their sense of smell was assaulted with the most delicious scents of maple syrup and freshly brewed coffee; Hermione breathed it in.

Hermione saw the Great Hall as one of the few comforting constants in this ever-changing, always moving, magical world. And she liked consistency. But this time, she had gotten too comfortable, too wrapped up in the pleasantness of the hall that she didn’t see Harry approaching from the opposite side of the hall until she almost collided with him. 

“Harry!” She exclaimed, startled. 

She unconsciously leaned into Draco’s body as a frazzled feeling overwhelmed her body at the unexpected presence of Harry. She was slightly upset with him still, for his attitude about her relationship with Draco. She was also unsure how to act around him ever since her fight with Ron. Hermione and Harry hadn’t talked about it in the week since, and she wasn’t sure if he felt the same about her as Ron so rudely shouted, or if he agreed with her for once. 

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to find out, either. 

“Hermione,” he smiled weakly. He looked flustered and unsure, just like her, but he stood much more confidently. “Hey,” he said. His shoulders were comfortably back, and his weight was supported by his own two feet. 

It became clear to her that running into Harry wasn’t a total accident. He had sought her out. 

“Hey,” she responded. 

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded his hello.

Draco reciprocated. “Potter.”

Harry’s green eyes looked to Draco thoughtfully, noticing his stoic face and the way his arm hung across her shoulders, before turning back to Hermione. Though Harry didn’t mean anything by the gesture, Hermione took it as a request to separate herself from the Slytherin’s arms and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, moving away from her fake boyfriend. 

A short, uncomfortable silence hung between them. 

“You were right,” Harry admitted, a sorrowful expression in his eyes. 

“She’s always right, Potter,” Draco quipped coolly, expressionless. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Hermione glanced from her fake boyfriend to her best friend, a new expression played across her features. “Well, it is true. I do tend to be correct more often than not,” she shrugged. 

Harry had to look twice.  _ Was Hermione… Smirking? _

A low chuckle escaped the Slytherin’s lips. “Who would have thought that snark was contagious?” he sneered, looking quite pleased with himself. 

_ Godric, now Malfoy’s smirking, too, _ groaned Harry internally.

Knowing that insulting the prat would only upset Hermione and wouldn’t get him anywhere, Harry schooled his face into showing anything other than the annoyed expression that so desperately wanted to come out. He offered Hermione a shy smile.

“Could you give us a second, Malfoy?” he asked. 

Hermione was surprised to see Draco looking at her deeply, wordlessly asking what she wanted. She appreciated the gesture but wasn’t sure what to think of it yet. She had Harry to deal with first. 

She squeezed Draco’s hand, offering him a small smile and a nod. 

He leaned down to kiss her forehead lightly. “I’ll see you at lunch then,” he promised, leaving Hermione and Harry as he wandered to his usual spot at the Slytherin Table. 

The Gryffindors did the same, silently. They found a spot at the end of their table, besides a few first years who were busy discussing broomsticks, and filled their plates with food. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The words, although soft-spoken and mumbled, were loud in Hermione’s ears. She tried to meet Harry’s gaze, which was unfocused on his plate, but he wouldn’t look at her. 

“I’m really sorry, Hermione,” he explained. “About the way I’ve been acting toward you about dating Malfoy. I was upset and I overreacted and… well, I guess I shouldn’t have kept hounding you about it. I’m sorry I went to McGonagall. I didn’t understand and I didn’t handle it properly.”

He met her eyes after he finished, revealing the flash of shame she rarely saw in that shade of green, and she knew he was being honest, that he had really thought about the words he would say to her. 

That he cared. 

“Wow, Harry. That is really mature of you to say. It means a lot to me… I know you really hate him,” she smiled, lightening the mood ever so slightly. 

He let out a small laugh, aiding her efforts. “There you go, being right again. I do really hate him,” he agreed. She laughed, along with him. 

“I know nothing has changed overnight, but what happened? Just last week you were assuring McGonagall I was imperiused, and while I am extremely glad that you won’t be sending Dumbledore after me next, I don’t understand why you’re apologizing right now.”

“I still don’t like him, of course. I don’t know if I will ever be able to get along with the prat, but I just realized that he might be good for you after all.”

“Good for me?”

He sighed. “Remember a few days ago… when you had that row with Ron?” She nodded. How could she forget? “Well, Malfoy came looking for you…”

_ “Mr. Potter!” shouted a voice. Harry looked around the common room, but none of the other students seemed to be paying any attention to him.  _

_ “Mr. Potter!” came the voice again. The oblivious boy looked around again but he was unable to find where the voice was coming from. _

_ By the fireplace, a distraught Lavender blubbered to a patient Parvati and an annoyed-looking Ron.  _

_ In the corner, Ginny was snogging Dean Thomas. Harry scowled at the sight, forcing the monster that was inside of him to calm down as he turned away.  _

_ The next table over, a few seventh years were studying for their NEWTS.  _

_ “MR. HARRY POTTER!” _

_ Finally, Harry noticed the red face of The Fat Lady and made his way over to her. “Finally,” She huffed. “Mr. Malfoy is outside in quite a mood. He’s saying he can’t find Miss Granger and is demanding I let him in.” _

_ The Gryffindor groaned internally knowing that there was a “will you handle this?” hanging, unsaid. He pushed through the portrait hole anyway.  _

_ “Do you know where Hermione is?” Malfoy asked immediately, a hint of frustration or stress on his face.  _

_ Harry shook his head, “No, she left a little while ago. I figured she went to be with you.” _

_ “She came up here to find you and get her Transfiguration notes before meeting with me again, but she never came back,” explained the blonde calmly. _

_ Harry noticed that the blonde didn’t look particularly downtrodden for being stood up. He wondered if it was due to Draco’s uncrushable confidence or if Draco was currently trying to hide his feelings like he so often did.   _

_ “She’s probably too embarrassed,” the Fat Lady interjected, shaking her head sadly. “Poor girl, she looked pitiful. You’re such a catch, Mr. Malfoy, she probably didn’t want you to see her in such a state… crazy hair, wild tears and all… not a pretty sight.” _

_ “What do you mean ‘tears’?” Draco bit, his fierce gray eyes rounding on Potter. “What happened?” _

_ “Don’t shout at me, Malfoy; I wasn’t part of it!” Draco’s glare weakened, but his jaw remained tense. Harry continued explaining, “She got in a major row with Ron, I guess. I only caught the end of it.” _

_ The blonde’s lips were pulled tight. “What did you hear?” _

_ Harry’s eyes fell to the floor. “She shouted at him, he shouted back… The same as their usual fight, really. She asked why her support was never enough. He was really, really harsh back. He told her why he didn’t like her… He told her that she didn’t belong. Low blow, I think, pulling out first-year insecurities… That’s when she left.” _

_ “Where did she go? Who’s with her?” the other boy rushed, eyes darkening. _

_ “My guess would be by the Black Lake, near the Forbidden Forest, but she’s definitely alone. She likes it that way, she’s always gone off to be alone when she gets upset.” _

_ “You’re kidding, right?” _

_ Now it was Harry’s turn to glare. “No, really.” he bit, mimicking Draco’s earlier tone. “You know her, the independent fiery girl. I doubt she wants to be around anyone.” _

_ “I knew you were dumb, Potter, but you can’t be serious. You’ve known her for six years and what is her biggest fear? Not belonging, not having friends. Now honestly try to tell me that after that weasel, her best friend, named all of the reasons he hates her and topped it off with a ‘you don’t belong here,’ being alone is the best idea. No. She probably needs reassurance or comfort, or I don’t know, maybe ONE friend to stay by her side.” _

_ “She usually doesn’t take long to calm down, really. She should be back in an hour... or two?” _

_ “Excuse me, Potter, when I say that you know absolutely nothing about women.” _

Hermione couldn’t quite describe how she was feeling as Harry finished recounting the story, but she knew it wasn’t quite right. She’d gotten her answers, but none of her problems were solved, so really, all Harry had given her were more questions. 

What did it mean? What did Harry think was so important? So, Malfoy had come to look for her when she failed to show up for their usual meeting, so what? Malfoy had insulted him, being a right prat as usual, so what? That wasn’t new. 

Hermione usually had all the answers, but this time, her mind was working too fast, confused, and she just didn’t understand. 

“I don’t understand, Harry,” she admitted. “How did that change your mind?”

Harry shrugged, failing to see that she was currently sitting in a puddle of her own stress, hating the fact that she had to ask for clarification. “I don’t know, Hermione. He cares for you.”

She shook off the idea, knowing that it would have been suspicious if Draco hadn’t looked upset after hearing about the row. “Boyfriends typically do care, yes.” 

“I know that, Hermione,” he defended. “It wasn’t just that.  He understood you… better than I did. And it hurt me at first, thinking that he was better at something than I was, a better friend than I was. It bothered me for days. I couldn’t figure out how he had known so much about you after, what? A  _ month _ ? When you’ve been my best friend for five years!”

Hermione reached across the table, placing a reassuring hand on top of his, which was gripping a fork so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. “Harry, stop that kind of thinking. You are a grea-”

“Hermione, let me finish. I’m not questioning our friendship. It’s just that him understanding you so well, what you needed, what you’d be feeling, helped me see, I think, what you see in him.” 

Hermione swallowed the scoff that wanted to betray her cover at those last five words. Harry didn’t notice, so he continued. “He pays attention to you. And I may not like Malfoy, but I love you and you deserve to be taken notice of... I’m sorry I didn’t… not as well as I should have done.”

The know-it-all witch was at a loss for words. She felt guilty for lying. She felt content with Harry’s apology. She felt surprised at Harry’s analysis of Draco’s actions and doubtful that they meant anything. She was confused by the broad range of emotions that pumped through her veins, but most of all, her heart beat with an overwhelming wave of love for her emerald-eyed friend. 

Certain that words, for once, would never be adequate, and unable to explain her emotions, she stayed silent. She squeezed his hand and offered a small, sad, smile. 

He squeezed back.

 

* * *

 

If you looked up ‘student’ in the dictionary, you would probably find a picture of Hermione Granger. 

She was a bookworm to the core and she rarely stayed within the recommended parchment length for essays. She seemed to know everything and, when she found she didn’t, she wouldn't leave the library until she found out.

Most teachers loved her brain and tolerated her overeagerness. Many had even come to expect her hand to be raised in the air for most of the class period. 

Which is why it did not go unnoticed when Hermione had spent a whole day of lessons actively daydreaming. 

And she didn’t seem to mind. 

Hermione’s mind was working as mad as ever, though, for the first time, she was solving problems that were not about magic. 

No, the topic that had completely consumed her brain was something much more complex and confusing: Draco Malfoy… and friendship. 

Between her conversation with Harry that morning and the conversation with Draco the previous night in the Room of Requirement, she had a lot to think about. Harry’s words had thrown her back onto that couch, sending her to reassess the argument Draco had made the night before. 

She wasn’t sure where Draco’s sudden urgency had come from, but, thanks to Harry, his words had been on her mind all day long. 

When he had settled back onto the couch and opened his book, Hermione had been lost for words. She had that horrible, confused feeling inside her that made her mind go wild in an attempt to sort everything out. 

For a moment, she tried to write it off as nothing. She told herself that Draco’s need to protect his mom must have been stressful and, maybe, he was struggling with a bad day and needed an outlet. Maybe his Slytherin, pureblood values were feeling too threatened by his growing comfort with her and he needed to break her down, show her who was superior. Maybe this was one of his plots to mess with her, hoping to get a rise out of her like he so often enjoyed.

But that didn’t quite make sense, did it?

He had insulted her and complimented her all in one go. But that was relatively normal for Draco. He had this aristocratic style of careful flattery that left a sour taste in your mouth. 

What really bothered her was the way he used her given name. He didn’t even seem to notice that he hadn’t called her by the usual ‘Granger’ in his typical, condescending tone. 

He might have started out with the familiar arrogant attitude, but somewhere along the way, something had changed. The way his face softened as he recited Oscar Wilde, the way his breathing had been thick, and the way he’d called her Hermione so easily… it all made it seem like he was sincere. 

The emotion he showed her on their couch reminded her of when he had comforted her on the bench by the lake. She was surprised by his candor then. Could this have been another one of those rare moments?

Had she seen another rare glimpse of the real Draco Malfoy? The one who wasn’t worried about who was around or what she would think? 

It was possible, likely even, that Draco had actually meant the encouraging words that had been dominating her mind. All signs pointed to sincerity, though she couldn’t understand why he cared enough to say anything all. 

But then, if the passion and honesty of Draco’s words meant that they were true, she was stuck with the difficult challenge of believing him; internalizing what he had told her. 

She always felt like her brains were a nuisance, considering how rudely she was treated for it. Everyone judged her for the way she threw herself into knowledge, needing to suck every ounce of learning out of life. 

But for the first time, it seemed that someone wanted her to go farther, beyond the barriers of the Hogwarts Library, and into something deeper and more real. Draco asked her to step a foot out of her comfort zone and let her mind wander. He wanted her to test the boundaries of her own brain, then reminded her that there are none.

Maybe she had been playing it safe all this time? Maybe she had been limiting herself by relying on the knowledge that others were willing to share? Maybe, she really could be a witch that future Hogwarts students would learn about? 

The idea made her whole body tingle.

It felt nice, for once, to be wanted for something that almost everyone else condemned her for. 

His words were more supportive than she’d heard in a while. Sure, every time exams came around she got “oh, we know you’ll do great, Hermione” and “you’re definitely going to be best in the class.” But Draco’s words were different. 

He didn’t speak out of convenience or obligation.

He gave her support and encouragement, two things that were so unusual to her. It seemed everyone else thought,  _ why do we need to encourage Hermione? She’s already the brightest witch of our age. That’s enough.  _

And it felt good! It felt good to have someone push you beyond boundaries you thought were fixed. It felt good to have someone rooting for her success and she suddenly realized that maybe that was the whole point of Quidditch. 

Draco helped her see her own value when she couldn’t find it by herself. He made her feel important. And it sucked!

It sucked to no end that Harry’s words were true. She hated that Draco paid attention to her, learned about her, understood her better than her best friend– better than herself.

How in the hell did he know more about her than she did? 

How did he know exactly what would tear her down? And how did he know exactly how to fix it? How did he know what to say? How did he know when to stay quiet? 

Ugh.

Harry hadn’t meant to, but his words led her to see just how complex her relationship with the Slytherin had become and it left a difficult question running through her mind. 

Had she become friends with Draco Malfoy? 

The more she thought about it, about him, about Harry’s words, the more she realized that the question became harder and harder to say ‘no’ to. 

They talked regularly, constantly, like friends do– but does it count if it’s forced? They studied together like friends do, but is it the same if it’s only for appearances? They helped each other like friends do, but again, that was part of the plan they created! They even teased each other like friends do!

But… Well... Okay, that one wasn’t part of their relationship plot. 

Maybe, somehow, they had become friends. Is that crazy?

She wondered if Draco had noticed what she was currently figuring out. Did he see this coming? Did he intend to befriend the swotty bookworm he lived to make fun of? What should she do next? Was this real, or something her mind had concocted?

She heard his voice in her head. The familiar, cool tone of his voice from earlier that morning. “She’s always right, Potter,” he had said so easily.

Maybe she should trust him and trust her mind’s wanderings. Maybe they  _ were _ friends. And if they were friends, maybe she should make a bigger step towards mending the cabinet. After all, helping each other is what friends do.

 

* * *

 

Later that evening, Draco rounded the corner of the seventh-floor corridor and was surprised with a vision of Hermione. She was dressed in muggle clothing, those jeans she liked to wear that were softly faded, and an oversized blue sweater decorated with a large golden H across the front. 

He found her choice of outfit somewhat cute, considering most witches he was familiar with rarely gave in to the pleasures of comfortable clothing. But, for some reason, Draco had the odd idea that he’d seen that sweater before but he couldn’t quite place it. On someone else, perhaps? 

He shook off the thought. 

She hadn’t noticed him yet, thankfully, for she was completely immersed in her examination of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. 

She had her hair tied up already, the look making him smile. 

“Why are you studying the tapestry, Granger? Hoping to pick up ballet?” Draco asked, noting how unusual it was for her to be waiting in the hallway instead of inside their room already engrossed in a book. The mocking tone that usually accompanied his sneers was weak this time, but the comment still earned him a glare and an eye roll from the witch in question.

“Don’t be silly, Malfoy. I don’t know how to get in.”

It took him but a moment to realize what she’d meant. His encouragement from the night before must have sunk in. 

She was ready to try magic. 

He nodded his understanding before walking back and forth in front of the empty space on the opposite wall thrice, causing a large oak door to appear. 

“Next time, just think ‘I need the place where everything is hidden.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione had the cabinet glowing again, the same bright blue color that meant it was far from working, but he’d expected that.

“I guarantee nothing has changed since last time you looked at it, Granger,” he teased, choosing to sit on a nearby bench. “I don’t see why you’re checking it again.”

“It’s called ‘data collection,’ Malfoy,” she said rolling her eyes widely in annoyance. “Where do you suggest we start?”

Draco vacated the bench to join her in front of the cabinet.

“When I visited Borgin, He told me the spell was ‘Harmonia Nectere Passus,’” he informed her, moving his hand along the old, worn wood. Hermione watched him with rapt attention like she normally did in class. A wave of something powerful moved through him. 

Just as Flitwick would, Draco demonstrated the complicated wand movement. It was sort of like a lowercase ‘m’ but with two feet on the outside endings. Or it could be described as an Omega symbol with an extra bump. Either way he could have worded it would have resulted in at least a bit of confusion, so he’d decided to show her instead. 

Apparently, his demonstration wasn’t very good, either. She was doing it all wrong. 

“No, Granger like this,” he told her, with another demonstration. She tried again but still didn’t manage it. 

“Here, let me.” Draco gently took her right hand in his own, her wand pointed at the cabinet and guided her in the correct figuration.

She couldn’t help but blush at their close proximity. It felt different in private, but she didn’t exactly dislike it. He stepped away as soon as the movement was finished, allowing her to try again on her own. This time, she had the correct movement and the tip of her wand glowed signifying her success.

“Thanks,” she breathed with a smile and he nodded.

“Now, Borgin also told me that this spell is a bit like Apparition where you have to think of The Three Ds: Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. The cabinet can only transport its contents to the matching cabinet, but it requires the mental power that The Three Ds provide,” explained Draco.

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were alight with the mesmerizing fire he had only seen once or twice before, but this time he knew it wasn’t a good thing.

“You mean to tell me,” she hissed taking slow steps in his direction, “that this whole time, you knew an incantation, and a wand movement, and a bloody theory, yet you didn’t think to mention it?”

He could practically see the steam coming out of her ears, but he’d handled worse. “I didn’t see a point, Granger. You refused to use magic up until now.”

“We could have checked out books on Apparition! We could have broadened our research! We could have looked at the development of the Three D Theory and compared it to the timeline of vanishing cabinets to see–

“Yeah we could have done a lot of things,” he bit impatiently, “but here we are now so let’s just move on.”

She huffed. “Ugh, I can’t believe you just didn’t tell me. Why don’t we go back to the library and check–

“No,” his voice was firm and strong. “I’ve been waiting a month, Granger, and I won’t have us backtracking now just as we get going. This incantation is something that just needs real practice. Research wouldn’t have helped a bit,” Draco explained. “We just need to try it.”

She deflated, allowing her anger to simmer down with a deep breath. Hermione’s eyebrows knitted together as she shook her head. “How is this going to work then? I haven’t been able to Apparate yet.”

He relaxed at her surrender, happy to have won another argument.  _ That’s twice in two days, _ he thought. 

He was a Slytherin, after all.

“That’s part of our problem. If nothing happens when we try to send something though, we won’t know if the connection is still broken, or if our spell is simply not powerful enough.”

“Bugger,” Hermione grumbled with a cross of her arms. “I guess I’ll just have to learn Apparition then.”

“Think you can do it on your own, Granger?” Draco smirked. “You are The Brightest Witch of our Age, but you and I both know magic requiring such mind manipulation isn’t your strong suit.”

“Oh shut it,” she cautioned. “You’ll be practicing too. Who knows? It might be even stronger with both of us casting.” 

“Phrase it however you want, but I get it. You just don’t want to admit I’m better at mental magic than you are,” he mused with a sly smile. 

She punched his shoulder, but it lacked her usual power. Her face was focused, her jaw was set, still looking at the vanishing cabinet. 

“Merlin, who knew Gryffindor’s princess was so violent?” mocked the Slytherin, pretending his shoulder was in so much pain it needed to be massaged out. 

Hermione scoffed and turned to face him, her arms crossing her chest defensively. “I am  _ not _ violent!”

Draco released his shoulder and laughed boisterously. “Merlin, you can’t be serious! My shoulder, Ron’s eye, and my nose all strongly disagree with that statement.”

She almost let out a laugh but was able to keep herself in check. She put her hands on her hips instead. “I simply have a low threshold for tolerating stupidity.”

The insult made him smile, causing a low giggle to escape Hermione.

“Whatever you say, Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi there, Happy Friday! I hope you enjoyed this chapter update! This is the longest chapter I have so far, so I really hope the length wasn't too much. The next one will be shorter but I think you'll like it! *insert author's knowing smile* I am SUPER excited about what is to come!
> 
> Thanks to the incredible beta, Rachelletwin22 for her continued dedication to helping me make this fic better! Other thanks to Bubbleb-tch for her beta work, too. As always, any and all errors that remain are my own. (Feel free to message me if you catch any typos so I can fix them!)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	10. Proof

Chapter Ten: Proof

 

The Gryffindor table was more subdued this Sunday morning, no doubt emptier than usual with students recuperating from last night’s Quidditch party. 

Hermione has missed the game–  and the following celebration– entirely. To her great surprise and pleasure, Draco hadn’t wanted to attend the match either. He figured their time would be better spent working on the cabinet, and seeing as how her hatred for the dangerous sport had reached an all-time high, she didn’t care to argue. 

According to the report Hermione was currently receiving from Ginny, Gryffindor had played their best game yet. The Lions beat Hufflepuff by such a number that Slytherin would have to beat Ravenclaw by almost 400 points to secure the cup. It seemed that the Quidditch cup was as good as won for the Gryffindors. 

Harry had been up early, even before Hermione. When she climbed down the stairs earlier that morning, she found him sitting in the armchair by the fire gazing dazedly into the flame. 

Briefly, Hermione worried that his solemn expression meant that they had lost the game, but Ginny’s beaming smile from the next couch over told her otherwise. 

It wasn’t abnormal for the bespeckled boy to be in a foul mood over the smallest things, so his mumbled “morning” didn’t phase his old friend. Upon Hermione’s suggestion, the three early-risers made their way down to breakfast. 

The girls were chatting about the match from their seats across from each other, but Harry, seated beside Hermione, did not show the slightest bit of interest in the conversation. You’d think they’d been discussing flobberworms or muggle fashion at great detail, the way he refused to join in. 

He was tearing into his sausages with wrathful bites. It was rather distracting for the brunette witch, but Ginny didn’t seem to notice. The redhead was gleefully retelling the entire match from the night before, right down to the looks on the Hufflepuff’s faces when Gryffindor had scored their fourth goal in twenty minutes. 

Ginny was initially aggravated that her best friend hadn’t made it to the game, but she couldn’t help but let Hermione’s misdeed pass when she asked her how the game went. 

As fiery as Ginny was, she was fiercely true to her friends. This meant two things for Hermione. First, it meant that she was usually quick to forgive and move on. For that, right now, Hermione was grateful. At a simple apology and Quidditch-themed distraction, Hermione was forgiven. Second, it made it all the more difficult to lie to her. Through this whole charade with Draco and all the people they were lying to, Hermione felt the worst about lying to Ginny. She knew Harry would be upset, but they would eventually work through it. With Ginny, though? There was no guessing as to how far the redhead’s wrath would go. Sure, she was quick to forgive the small things, but this lie was monstrous in comparison to missing a Quidditch match. If Ginny ever found out about the fake relationship scheme, she would no doubt scorn Hermione indefinitely. 

This only motivated Hermione more to keep it secret.

Just as Ginny’s story was wrapping up, Dean Thomas had settled down beside her and planted a sweet kiss on his girlfriend’s cheeks. His appearance quickly consumed Ginny’s attention, sending Hermione’s eyes to roll, eventually landing on the still obviously irritated Harry Potter.

She could tell his gaze was set somewhere across the hall, so she followed it. What she found made her eyes roll for what seemed to be the thirtieth time that morning.

“Harry, may I ask what has you glaring daggers at my boyfriend from across the hall?” she questioned. 

His stern glare shifted toward her only for a moment before settling on his plate, still vicious. “It’s nothing.”

Hermione frowned at him. She’d known him for five years, did he seriously think she didn’t know when he was lying? 

“Come on, Harry. You’re all but hexing him with your eyes,” she declared, groaning.

“It’s none of your concern.” 

“It most certainly is! We’ve been together for over a month now, surely any problem you have with him is something that concerns me,” Hermione argued flashing an equally fierce glare in retaliation.

“I don’t understand you, Harry,” she continued. “What was it? Three days ago, you were raving all about how good he is for me, and we’re back to this nonsense? I swear if you’re back to convincing the world that I’ve gone mad-”

His fork fell to his plate in a light crash and he looked her dead in the eyes. “Look, Hermione, I understand you care about the prat, Godric knows why, but I know that you wouldn’t want to hear my thoughts right now so please, just drop it.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “If this is about your ‘Malfoy took the Mark’ theory… Honestly, Harry, I don’t want to tell you again how ridiculous you sound.”

“Do you want to know why I hate him more now than when he first called you a mudblood, more than when he picked a fight with me and got me banned from Quidditch, more than when he broke my nose and covered me with my invisibility cloak?  _ Fine _ , you want to know why I feel like grabbing Malfoy by the neck, throwing him down the grand staircase before bashing him into a pulp?” His voice was a savage whisper. “Do you– do you really want to know why I want to kill him three times over?”

For some reason, he didn’t want any eavesdroppers, so Hermione whispered too. “Harry! What on earth–”

“Last night after the match, I was looking over the Marauders Map when I realized, I didn’t see Malfoy anywhere– 

“Not this again. I’ve told you–

“No Hermione, I know.” He looked at her stiffly, almost sadly. “I wish he was a Death Eater, that would be easier. I could hate him and you could hate him and we’d be fine. But that slimy ferret is getting in the way of our friendship.”

She looked at him inquisitively, but rageful. What had she done wrong? He couldn’t possibly know, could he? Surely if he knew their secret, he’d be mad at her, too. The witch was offended by her friend’s tactless anger. 

Sensing his need to explain, Harry continued to whisper, his voice growing pained and frantic as the words tumbled out. “Listen, Hermione, I know you were with him. I couldn’t find you on the map anywhere either.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, maybe the map is wrong, we haven’t left the castle,” she suggested while she attempted to turn back to her own breakfast signaling that she was done with this conversation. The last thing she needed was for Harry to be asking questions she didn’t have the answer to.

She felt a sharp pinch at her shoulder as her best friend roughly turned her towards him again, obvious tension and unease written across his face.

“No!” he shouted in haste before lowing his volume back to their quiet tones. “This wasn’t the first time, Hermione. I’ve figured it out now. You’ve been going to the Room of Requirement with him, haven't you?” 

She was pretty sure a look of horror momentarily crossed her face before she could steady her features. She didn’t realize the Room of Requirement was unknowable all the times she and Draco had worked in there. Her calculating expression wasn’t fast enough for her usually unobservant friend to notice, however. 

“So it is true!” He shook his head. “Merlin, Hermione, I never thought I’d had to have this conversation with you. At least not about that ferret.” His hands started running through his perpetually unkempt hair, his telltale nervous tick.

“What do you mean, Harry? I still don’t follow.”

“You’re sleeping with him,” he said definitively. Not leaving any room for one to infer speculation.

Hermione was so shocked and unnerved. “What do you–how do you-”

He impatiently cut off her incomplete question, “I just know it. That’s the only explanation I could think of as to why you two are sneaking into that room all the time. Godric, you know you’re like a sister to me, ‘Mione, I can’t help but be angry.” He ran his fingers through his hair again, unable to make eye contact with her any longer. He chose to fire another glare toward Draco instead.

She had no doubt her eyes had grown wide as he spoke, unable to believe his absurd statement. Fake dating Draco was one thing, but sleeping with him? Now that was ridiculous. 

As she sat there dumbfounded, she realized that she’d either need a foolproof explanation for why they go to the Room of Requirement, or she’d have to let him believe she was actually having sex with the snake. 

But she couldn’t find the words. She floundered, “Harry I–I–” 

_ Bloody hell, _ Hermione’s mind never disappointed her, and it chose this moment to be completely empty. 

_ Damn Draco Malfoy. Damn the stupid cabinet. Damn Harry and his damn map! _

“No, Hermione, I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to know what you’re thinking about. I can see your cheeks turning red. Look, I care, but I won’t judge you for this. It’s your life and it’s your body and your decision. Just– just know that if he hurts you in any way, tries to force you to do…  _ something _ you’re not comfortable with, I’m here for you. And I won’t hesitate to hex him where it hurts if you know what I mean,” Harry said, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice with a practiced nonchalance that told her he must have rehearsed that little speech in his mind. 

She continued to stare at him uncomfortably. She was grateful for her loyal friend, but this was too much. She was almost thankful for the distraction that Ron Weasley provided when he sat down on her other side. 

They still weren’t talking, Hermione and Ron, but there was an unspoken agreement that they could ignore each others’ existence when Lavender wasn’t around and spend time in the same group. She refused to be the girl that ran away from him. She didn’t want to neglect her friendship with Harry and Ginny just because of the red-headed git. 

Sure, she prefered he didn’t sit next to her, but on the days she decided to actually stay at the Gryffindor table, she could deal with it. 

“Oi, what’s got you two squirming in your seats?” the gangly boy inquired, eyeing Harry and Hermione with a scrunched up nose that was extremely unattractive.

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” the voice of his sister called, stealing his attention. 

Harry and Hermione sent looks somewhere between confusion, fury, shock, and horror at the girl sitting across from them. 

“Our dearest Hermione has been deflowered by the Sex God that is Draco Malfoy,” she proudly announced, loud enough for far too many people to hear. “Seriously ‘Mione! How could you keep something like this from me?” she squealed… loudly. 

A few gasps rang out around the table, followed by a few jealous glares from other girls that were all too comfortable openly expressing their desire for Draco to notice them. All the while, Ron seemed oddly calm after hearing Ginny’s exclamation, fueling Hermione’s internal fury.

Shouldn’t the thought of her shagging another man, especially that man being their long-term nemesis, send him into a jealous rage? 

Ron started to chuckle as he reached for a glass a pumpkin juice. “No way is Hermione shagging that Ferret. I don’t buy it,” he said taking a sip.

“Apparently, she's been sneaking off into the Room of Requirement every night to shag the man senseless,” Ginny smirked.

This was the worst day of Hermione Granger’s life. Her cheeks were a blazing scarlet and people were starting to look. 

His laugh roared even louder. “You all think this goody-two-shoes  _ librarian _ let someone into her chastity belt?” Those who could hear stared at Ron, utterly baffled that those words came out of his mouth. 

Hermione was making it snow around them all,  _ damn accidental magic.  _

She focused hard on glaring at him, not wanting another argument like their last one to erupt right in the middle of the great hall. She didn’t need that kind of embarrassment. Not on top of all that she was already feeling after having her virginity taken by an awful rumor. 

Ron was not put off by the looks from the others. If anything, he seemed more confident. “Lavender and I can’t keep our hands off each other,” he boasted. 

“Don’t we all know,” Dean groaned joining in on the conversation. Ginny and Harry rolled their eyes in agreement.

Ron’s continued smile set Hermione on edge. What was he up to? Where was this going?

“Well, has anyone noticed that no one’s seen them kiss? Not once! Don’t you find that a bit odd?” Ron asked. 

Ahhhh, she thought. So that’s what he’s on about. He knows! She internally cursed herself, this was not the time for their secret to come out. She looked over at the Slytherin table. Sure enough, her eyes met with the fine blonde head of her boyfriend, his back to them as he talked calmly with Blaise and Goyle. He was absolutely oblivious to the fact that their secret was crumbling around her.

She needed to say something, anything! “I’ve kissed Draco plenty of times, thank you very much!” Hermione insisted. 

“Oh yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it. If you’re so bloody comfortable snogging the prat, why don’t you go on over there and plant one on him right now?” Ron’s tone was challenging, sending a wave of fury through her body.

The whole of Gryffindor had turned to shamelessly watch the drama unfold. 

“Glady, Ronald. I have nothing to hide,” Hermione spat, her temper threatening to explode. 

 

* * *

 

Draco sat in pointless conversation with Blaise, something about Professor Binns’ contemplating retirement or something equally uninteresting when the Italian’s eyes went wide and the temperature suddenly felt arctic. 

Peering just over his shoulder, Draco could see a determined Hermione storming toward him, her eyes absolutely glowing with either fury or fear. He couldn’t be sure. 

Before he could contemplate her further, her hands were on either side of his face and her lips were crashing into his. 

It took him a second to realize what was happening. He was being kissed by Hermione Granger, whom up until recently he easily thought he felt nothing but irritation for. It took him another second to realize that even though they were only fake dating and that she had insisted that they wouldn’t kiss, he didn’t care. His hand found its way to her face as he kissed her back with such a force that she lost her balance. His other hand slipped around her waist to steady her and lower her slowly to his lap. 

He could feel her shiver slightly at the intimate contact they made on the bench. Merlin, he couldn’t believe he was actually kissing her. But it wasn’t a bad kiss. NO, it was passionate and intoxicating. She bit his bottom lip so softly before his tongue begged for entrance, which she gladly gave. They both could hear the cheers and whistles that rang out throughout the Great Hall around them, but it was of no consequence. They were both perfectly lost to the world. 

Somewhere far, far away, maybe in another universe, Harry and Ron were fighting against Ginny and Dean, shouting “I’m gonna kill him,” and other similar obscenities as the couple frantically ushered them out of the hall. 

The thought that they shouldn’t be doing this crossed both of their minds, but neither of them wanted to stop. 

“Miss. Granger, Mr. Malfoy, this is hardly appropriate for breakfast time,” interrupted Professor McGonagall’s calm voice. 

Nervously, Hermione brought her lips away, her eyes still closed, and she hovered there. Her forehead rested against his. Breathing was incredibly difficult. 

There’s a moment between a first kiss and the eye contact that follows, where the whole world stops. The residual effects of having all of the air shoved spectacularly out of your lungs still have you feeling light-headed and you can’t be sure that you’re thinking properly. You have about 1.3 seconds to enjoy the way the world is spinning before the anxiety sets in.

When she opened her eyes, she saw pure silver, Draco’s eyes, inches away from her own. He looked at her exactly the way she needed to be looked at. Like the whole world could crumble and he wouldn’t blink. 

“Hermione–

And at that one whispered word, her given name once again rolling off his tongue, Hermione was thrown back into reality. She was suddenly aware of her racing heart and physical closeness to the blonde man beneath her. She noticed how the familiar scent of pine surrounded her in every way. She heard the chatter that had erupted from all corners of the Great Hall and felt the way his arm was wrapped around her waist.

She became all-too-aware of who exactly she had been kissing.

This was Draco Malfoy. Slytherin, pureblood, fake boyfriend, we-swore-we-wouldn’t-kiss, Draco Abraxas Malfoy. 

Her dark eyes remained locked with Draco’s, which were transforming from silver into the sharp greys she had come to know as his. But there was still something different in the way he looked at her. 

This was a look she hadn’t seen from him before... and she didn’t quite know how to read it.

The color pink tinged her skin; nerves and embarrassment spread through her body while Draco continued to hold her securely on his lap, his eyes searching, never leaving, her own. 

“Draco,” she started sheepishly, “I– uh, I have a few things to get done this morning.” She offered a shy smile, slowly regaining control of herself. 

“Alright,” he hesitated, mostly confused and unsure of himself.

She took a breath before flashing a smile in his direction. “I was thinking we could take a walk around the grounds after lunch?” Her voice was more confident now, but he thought her words were sung a little too sweetly and that smile vaguely resembled the fake one his mother often wore in unpleasant company.

He took a moment to study her features. Her cheeks were a rosy pink and softly glowing embers were resting in her irises. This was a new emotion, he knew, something he couldn’t quite figure out. 

Then, he remembered she had asked him a question. 

“Sure,” he responded. He felt the weight of one hundred eyes on them but he dared not look away from the witch still sitting on his lap. He offered her a similar smile, the kind he reserved for arse-kissing, charming his mother’s snobbish friends, and getting what he wants. “A walk sounds great.”  

She smiled once again as she removed herself from his lap with such grace, not an ounce of embarrassment showed. 

Draco watched as she left. Her shoulders were held high with dignity, leaving behind a trail of following eyes as she pushed through the double doors and exited the Great Hall.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! Happy Valentines Day! I hope you all enjoyed your holiday, and I hope you all feel loved. If you're reading this, know that I LOVE YOU. The reviews I get every week make my heart SOAR. Again, big Beta love for the girls that help me make sure that this fic makes sense.
> 
> Soooooo... Big chapter, right? Thoughts? Please read, review, favourite, and share! I always look forward to reading the comments for this story. You all are incredible, keep it up!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	11. Think

Chapter Eleven: Think 

 

Whispers erupted throughout the hall, but Draco didn’t care. He did not understand what just happened, where that kiss came from. Was that all part of the ruse to make Weasley jealous? The kiss certainly made Draco think a few things that he would be too proud to admit out loud. His lips still tingled, feeling slightly bruised from the initial impact and sore from the little bite she’d given him. Merlin, that made his pants twitch.  
  
“Salazar, Draco. If she kisses you like that in public, you’re a lucky man. I can’t imagine how she kisses you when you’re alone.”  
  
“Shut it, Blaise. That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about,” snapped the blonde bitterly as he was pulled from one awfully inappropriate thought to an even more inappropriate conversation.  
  
“Woah! Sorry mate,” Blaise said, holding his hands up in defense. “I didn’t realize you didn’t care to discuss... those things.” He sent a smirk across the table at Goyle, who snickered at the innuendo.  
  
“Yeah, Draco, when you deflowered Pansy after the Yule Ball fourth year, you wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks!” agreed Goyle.  
  
“We were starting to assume you not talking about Granger meant you hadn’t gotten into her knickers yet-“  
  
If Blaise was going to say anything else, no one would ever know. Draco’s wand was out faster than the reflexes of a Hungarian Horntail. It’s point jabbed into the underside of the Italian’s chin like a hangman’s noose. Blaise’s eyes were wide with alarm, while Draco’s silver orbs flashed dangerously, boring into his longtime friend’s.  
  
“I suggest you let any more indecorous thoughts about Hermione Granger disappear from your mind completely. She is _my_ girlfriend and I refuse to sit here quietly while others degrade her.” His tone, stern and fierce, was terrifying. Never had the Slytherins seen their unspoken leader so angry. Especially not toward one of their own.  
  
Raising his voice a little louder so others around them could hear, Draco continued, glare still focused on Blaise beside him. “You’d all do well to remember how savagely protective I am over things I care about. I will not hesitate to hex anyone else who dares to speak so inappropriately about Hermione. I don’t care what colors you wear on your robes.”  
  
With that, Draco lowered his wand, grabbed his things, and stormed out of the Great Hall, adrenaline fueling his pace as he took step after sharp step.  
  
He continued down to the dark dungeons and into his dormitory where he quickly gathered his broom and a cloak before marching himself to the Quidditch pitch.  
  
He needed to clear his head of the numerous thoughts that plagued his mind.  
  
Less than fifteen minutes ago, Hermione had kissed him. Hermione Granger, the bossy, stubborn, swotty, muggle-born Gryffindor had grabbed his face in her soft hands and kissed him in front of the whole school, professors and everything.  
  
He couldn’t deny that it had been the sexiest, most passionate kiss he had ever experienced. Usually, he was so calculated and planned with everything he did, even while snogging, but there in the Hall, his body had taken over, shoving all thought somewhere irrelevant. His hormones leading every movement of his hands and lick of his tongue, as every drop of blood had rushed southward.  
  
He mounted his Nimbus 2001, soaring higher and higher until the cold air chilled his whole body and the pitch was only as small as a galleon. He let the wind make a mess of his usually immaculate hair.  
  
What was he thinking? This was Hermione! He couldn’t be thinking about her like this. His body shouldn’t be reacting in such unsuitable ways.  
  
No, he had simply been deprived of a woman’s touch for too long. _That must have been it,_ he told himself.

It wasn’t her fierceness as she’d approached him, or the way her gentle hands softly but surely gripped his pale cheeks. It wasn’t the way he could feel her melt into him as she lowered into his lap, nor the way she tasted of strawberries. It couldn’t have been her reckless hair that matched her uncharacteristically reckless behavior.  
  
NO!  
  
He sent his broom into a sharp descent at a neck-breaking pace. He’d almost reached the ground before he finally pulled up on the handle, soaring back into the sky. Darting back and forth rapidly, Draco tried to force the thoughts to shake right out of his head.

And what was that at the end? Why had she suddenly been so bloody cold with that tense smile? Why did the sickeningly sweet tone of her voice remind him so much of his mother? Was it all for show? He’d shot back as much of the same controlled sweetness as he could muster at that moment, but he was confused and annoyed; he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to get it across. She could be so thick sometimes, she probably hadn’t noticed his lack of contentment and absolute confusion.

He weaved in and out of the goalposts, barely making the turns sharp enough to avoid colliding with the rings. He was trying to kill himself now. He didn’t care if he hit the metal ring and plummeted to his death.

He stopped weaving when he got dizzy, though. He took to challenging the wind to a race, hoping he could outfly the set top speed of his incredibly fast broom. But no matter how fast he went, the events of that morning still stuck with him.

The kiss itself was complicated enough, but then his idiot best friend, Blaise Zabini, had the nerve to talk about her in such a degrading way. Sure, yes, everyone had definitely seen the deep, desperate, ardent kiss. There was truth in Blaise’s statement, and that’s what set Draco off.

Why?

Because now, Draco wanted to know the answer. Now Draco wanted to know how she’d kiss him when no one was watching.

Was that awful? Was he starting to have feelings for the brains of the Golden Trio? Or was this simply a physical attraction that was plaguing his mind?  
  
He wanted it to be physical. He’d freely admit now that he didn’t find her unattractive. She could be quite pretty sometimes. Actually, he’s even thought her to be beautiful once or twice when they were studying in the library and she had this strong look of complete focus. Or that day on the bench when she’d cried and they’d laughed hysterically. The joy that danced on her features then was stunning. Even today, with her ankles crossed by his, her torso comfortably melted into his chest, and a smile pulling at her lips as they kissed, the smile that he felt rather than saw.  
  
His eyes had been closed, but he would bet his whole Malfoy fortune that she had looked beautiful in that moment.  
  
He didn’t want there to be emotions involved. That was one of the rules they’d settled on what felt like so long ago. But didn’t his reaction to Blaise mean it was more than just physical? Would he have stood up for her, protecting her, if he didn’t care on some fundamental level?

_Probably not._

He hated that answer. The only person he’d ever been so protective over was his mother. Maybe his father at one time, but he’d learned a lot since then. 

And if Draco cared for her, like really, honestly had feelings for her, what would that mean about their fake relationship? Should he call it off? No, he couldn’t see that helping the situation at all.  
  
Did she feel the same thing for him? Did she feel the sparks that flew between them or the same tingling he was still feeling on his lips and throughout his body? Was that kiss for their fake relationship, or had Hermione actually wanted to kiss him? What was that emotion her caramel eyes were singing before she left? And where the bloody hell did that bite come from? Where had she learned to do that?  
  
He took his broom for another climb, wishing desperately that he’d get close enough to the gods for them to tell him what to do.  
  
He couldn’t be certain that he had feelings for her. No, maybe the feelings that came with the kiss were simply that. A one-time spark between two people who should never kiss again. That would probably be for the best if they wanted to keep this fake relationship going smoothly. Feelings and emotions were sure to mess up their plan.  
  
Draco slowly brought himself down, landing almost perfectly in the center of the field, having decided his next course of action.  
  
He’d pick Hermione up at her portrait hole like usual and take her to their bench by the lake that she liked and refrain from kissing her. He’d listen to what she had to say, her explanation of why she’d kissed him. Real feelings for her or not, he’d carry on with their agreement like a professional because that’s what Malfoys do.  
  
He might apologize to Blaise, too.  
  
But he might not.

 

* * *

 

Chaos.

Complete and utter, uncontrollable, chaos.

Hermione’s mind felt like a war zone, conflicting opinions, pointed wands; Incendios, Crucios, and Stupefies rained down inflicting mayhem on her thoughts. Everything she had known about Draco Malfoy was sent up in smoke. Fear and tranquility clashed; nerve and caution rivaled; her mind and her heart drew swords. So much was rushing through the brunette’s head, yet she was thunderstruck, stunned and dazed, lying on her canopy bed with the curtains drawn and her favorite pyjamas on once again, desperate for some semblance of security.

Like a sad song on repeat, she thought over and over and over again: _I just kissed Draco Malfoy. I just kissed Draco Malfoy. I just kissed Draco Malfoy._

The thought left her anxious, confused, exhilarated, and filled with questions.

Why couldn’t she think of a reason to be in the Room of Requirement to tell Harry? Why did Ginny have to tell her brother such atrocious information? Why did Ronald have to go and make a big deal about them not kissing in public? Why did his arrogance have to rear its head in the middle of the damn Great Hall?

Why did Draco have to be the second boy she kissed? Why did he have to kiss back? Why did she end up on his lap? Why did McGonagall have to break them up?

 **Why did she** **_like_ ** **it?**

It was so different from any kiss she’d experienced before. Despite having crashed into him so forcefully, without warning, Draco’s lips met hers with such a gentle connection, concentrated, yet electric. He knew where to put his hands and how to move his tongue along her bottom lip. He knew how to make her feel secure through the slightest comforting movement of his hand, intentional or not. He knew how to make her heart race in a way she didn’t know was possible.

She had never understood the cliche before, but when she’d kissed him, she had a fluttering feeling in her stomach that reminded her of butterflies.

It reminded her of her favorite tea, the way he warmed her up.

But this was _Malfoy_ she was thinking about. It was Draco _Malfoy_ that she’d kissed.

How could she kiss the epitome of an enemy? He’d teased her, insulted her, hated her for the last five years. He’d been ruthless to her and her friends. She shouldn’t be kissing him, she shouldn’t be thinking about him, and her body shouldn’t be responding to him.

But then, he wasn’t as much an enemy anymore, was he? No, he’d become an ally, a friend (though she still wouldn’t say it out loud) over the past few weeks through their fake relationship and working on the cabinet together. She’d grown to trust him. She’d come to enjoy his company and even appreciate how he always seemed to know the words she needed to hear. He’d argue with her, encourage her, and even compliment her in that roundabout way when she was down. But, of course, it was all laced with a hidden insult, true to Malfoy form, or came as part of his fake boyfriend duties.

But they weren’t supposed to kiss in this fake relationship, that was one of their rules.

It wasn’t who she’d kissed that bothered her. No, it wasn’t that she had violated their contract that scared her. It wasn’t the fact that it had been in front of the whole school that made her thoughts panic.

Hermione was paralyzed by the fact that she’d enjoyed it.

Her heart was racing in a pleasant way; her cheeks flushed and her lips were swollen. It was a feeling that she’d never experienced before. A certain weightlessness, a light, lingering haze that clouded her brain and made her thoughts so unmanageable.

She imagined that this was similar to the sort of high one would feel after consuming some kind of illegal drug, not that she would know at all what being high would feel like. But the way her mind was spinning, the euphoria that lingered despite her mess of thoughts, and the way her whole body ached to kiss him again… It all surely sounded like a drug. Didn’t it?

Hermione didn’t _like_ Draco. This headrush didn’t mean she had _feelings_ for him. That wouldn’t even be possible. Maybe it meant that she was more attracted to Draco than she had been to Viktor back in fourth year, that was probably it. This dizziness didn’t mean anything.

It was complicated, to say the least.

On one hand, she wanted to try it again to see if it would have the same effect on her. Purely for academic understanding, of course. Was all of this a byproduct of adrenaline and hormones? Or was it the fact that the whole school was watching? Or, could it possibly have been a side effect that would always come from kissing Draco?

Another reason (though she wished it wasn’t true) was that Draco was, undeniably a good kisser. She didn’t even have to have much experience with the activity to know this to be a fact.

Everything about the kiss was perfect, everything about him in that moment, really.

She couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on her waist, or her chest rising and falling with his, or the way his tongue made her feel like she must have one of the most exquisite tastes. She couldn’t stop thinking about the warmth of his forehead as it rested against hers.

If she were honest, Hermione didn’t want to stop thinking about any of it.

But she was finding it extremely difficult to be so honest, even with herself because, on the other hand, kissing Draco Malfoy a second time would definitely be problematic.

For starters, what if all of these odd feelings persisted? What would happen then?

What if they didn’t? What if it was only a one-time thing, an act, a show? Would she be okay with that? Frighteningly, Hermione wasn’t sure she would be.

It wasn’t like Draco would want to kiss her, anyway. He was probably off right now, taking his anger out on some undeserving first year, or off flying around the quidditch pitch with the hopes of calming down enough so he wouldn’t completely blow their cover by shouting at her in the Great Hall.

Maybe he was disgusted by the kiss and only had kissed her back because he didn’t know how to push her away without drawing incredible suspicion. Maybe he was taking an incredibly long, cold shower with the intent of scrubbing away all of her mudblood germs.

But that was a ludicrous thought, too, and Hermione knew it. Thankfully, Draco didn’t care about her blood anymore. That much she was sure of.

The idea, though, of him, you know, in a shower, brought her back to to the annoying, persisting, craving of his lips again.

Ugh.

She knew it would never, should never, could never happen the way her– hormones– wanted it to.

It was all rather silly, she knew, all of these thoughts about him.

She rolled over in her bed slowly, pulling her blankets up around her and situating a pillow in front of her face so she could scream without anyone hearing. Not that anyone would care if they did.

They wouldn’t even understand, would they? No, they would not think anything of the heated kiss they’d seen. Instead, they’d probably blame her current state on the fact that her sex life was now public knowledge spreading throughout the school.

Ugh.

The more she lay there thinking, the more worked up she got. She now had to figure out a way to explain everything to Draco. She could only hope that the rumor wouldn’t reach him before lunch, but this was Hogwarts, and this was boarding school, and there was no telling how far, how wide, nor how quickly rumors would spread.

That led to her next problem, and maybe one she should have been thinking about most importantly. How exactly would she tell Draco that everyone thinks they are sleeping together and she basically confirmed it with that mind-searing kiss? What did this mean for their fake relationship?

She wouldn’t let these strange thoughts derail her plan. She’d have to be professional about this: apologize for the situation and explain how it transpired, casually explain how everyone now thinks they’re sleeping together, and insist they never kiss again.

Sure, that sounds great.

She didn’t want to experience those odd post-kiss feelings again, at least not with Draco.

Truthfully, she simply didn’t want to address them at all. Not kissing would be the best way to avoid it. Maybe they’d have to be a little more touchy in public, but they could find ways to express their fraudulent intimacy without using their lips.

Godric, this was a mess. She wasn’t thinking. She was so blinded by her anger at Ron and embarrassment from Ginny, and her sheer shock at Harry’s statements; it had driven her to the point of insanity. That’s the only thing she could think of to explain why she actually charged the Slytherin Table and kissed Draco. Absolutely, not-right-in-the-mind madness.

She brought the pillow back in front of her face and screamed into it again. Now she was thinking about Ronald.

He had been so confident in his certainty that Hermione was playing things fake, and that irritated her. Sure, it was all a fictional show, but she and Draco had played their parts well, or so she thought. Well, it didn’t matter now because she’d shown him! Whatever comfort Ron felt before thinking that it wasn’t real was out the frosty-paned window.

She’d finally seen that jealous reaction from Ron that she’d been wanting for so long, but oddly enough, it was a hollow victory that lacked the expected satisfaction.

She was worked up but didn’t seem to be able to keep her thoughts focused on Ron’s reaction for very long.

The kiss itself was definitely not the reason she was distracted… No, her change in feelings really didn’t have anything to do with Draco.

That would be ridiculous.

Once again, Ron had shown her what a complete jerk he could be. The way he drawled the word librarian with deep disdain made it sound less like a respectable occupation, less like a simple insult, and more like a steel blade, sharpened to perfection, that was thrust with cruel force into Hermione’s left lung.

He truly lacked consideration for her feelings and hadn’t shown even a slight hesitation in the way those insults fell from his mouth. If he hesitated, maybe she could have held onto the wishful idea that his subconscious mind didn’t want to hurt her.  

But he hadn’t.

It was the boys’ dormitory all over again, despite this conversation being so much shorter. She recognized that these words themselves didn’t break her nearly as much as his rant had back in Gryffindor tower- she wasn’t going to cry this time- but Ron, that morning, had hurt her heart in a very different way.

Before, she could almost blame his past outburst on the situation. Maybe his hormones were too hyped up. Maybe he had a bad day and was taking his anger out on her. Maybe he didn’t really mean any of it.

Maybe.

Maybe, there was hope.

But unfortunately, just because she’d bounced back didn’t mean Ron had. And unfortunately, just because there is a flicker of hope, doesn’t mean it will ever become more than that.

That was the harsh reality Hermione now faced.

Hadn’t they fought all along? Hadn’t most of those fights left her crying her eyes out in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom and feeling isolated and lonely for months? Hadn’t he insulted her time and time before? Hadn’t he shown her over and over again that he didn’t want her?

How had she built him up so much in her head all those years? How had she let him get so much power over her?

Everything Ron said and everything he did affected her so much- _too_ much.

This whole revenge plot should have been the first telltale sign that Hermione viewed Ron too highly. Any normal girl would have been upset if their crush had kissed someone else, but to let it drive them to complete and utter madness? Hermione shouldn’t have. Then the fact that the insults he shouted at her in his dormitory, the venom in his voice, had driven her to drown in such self-loathing and desperation showed her that she had given far too much power to the unstable redhead. And yet, she let him do it all over again when he challenged her to kiss Draco!

For someone who had been coined the Brightest Witch of Her Age, Hermione Granger was feeling rather stupid.

It was pathetic, really, how after years of being generally unnoticed and entirely undervalued by the freckled-faced boy, she still hoped it would be her and him in the end.

 _But not anymore_ , she told herself with a fierceness she usually reserved for making people do what she wants. The days of pining over Ronald Weasley were over.

She’d spent years being unapologetically herself around him and he’d told her over and over again that it wasn’t good enough.

Hermione knew in her heart that learning and knowledge were fundamentally part of her being. There is no Hermione without books or a hand raised in the air because, really, that was who she fully intended to be. She was passionate about the things that mattered to her and she desperately wanted to prove that she belonged in this incredibly magical world.

So what if people thought her academic confidence was annoying? So what if she pushed to prove herself? That was who she was!

Hermione Granger would never stop reading, or learning, or trying to prove herself, and if Ronald Weasley wasn’t okay with that part of who she was, which he had made so clear in the last few conversations (read: arguments) they’d had,  she would have to move on. She refused to be thirty-five, playing small, and sitting comfortably in a life that she couldn’t be proud of.

Because that girl, the one it seemed Ron Weasley wanted- a well-trained, brainless lapdog that lived to serve him- was never going to be Hermione Granger.

And she was infuriated, Godric she was infuriated, by the amount of time she’d spent dreaming about a future with him. She was angry for the energy she’d spent trying to get him to notice her. But most of all, she was furious at herself for not noticing their obvious incompatibility sooner.

She was furious that it took six years, a sham relationship, surprisingly encouraging words and a kiss from Draco Sodding Malfoy for her to realize it.

Part of her wanted to end the whole arrangement with Draco and move on with her life now that she didn’t care about whether or not Ron wanted her, but she couldn’t do that to Draco. Not after everything he’d helped her with and all of the times he had cheered her up.

It was not like her to go back on her promises and responsibilities, especially ones she made to friends. She had agreed to help him mend the cabinet and she would hold true to that.

And, maybe, that would mean she’d have to **_(get to)_ ** kiss him again somewhere along the way.

She’d be lying if she said that wasn’t listed on the better side of her mental pros/cons list. She’d also be lying if she said that the words were not mentally bolded and underlined.

She was now lying face down in her bed, thinking about Draco Malfoy in weird ways and wondering why she’d spent the last six years dreaming of someone as harsh, dimwitted, inconsiderate, and downright barbaric as Ronald Weasley.

For a girl who had battled Dark Lords, escaped prisoners, and dark wizards year after year, Hermione was beginning to wonder why this year felt the most exhausting. It wasn’t even close to exams yet!

With the soft late-morning sun dancing through her windows and leaving her skin comfortably warm, the weight of it all lulled her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi there, happy Friday! I am so so soooooooo glad that the last chapter was so well-accepted! Every review makes me smile for hours and helps motivate me to edit and improve each chapter I post. Big shoutouts to Eltanyn, DarvenTravos, Sara92, and EStrunk (there are many others, too) for their regular comments and oh-so-kind words. Seriously, it means so much to have readers that take time out of their day to respond to the story, but especially for those who comment every week! Similarly, HeartSandwich's gifs and Anothersin's comments on Chapter Ten were so heartwarming and motivational. You all are amazing!
> 
> I also want to thank Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their help as betas for this story! I couldn't do it without their impressive ability to catch typos and their kind, constructive feedback.
> 
> Please read, favourite, review, share, and follow. You can also follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	12. Rain

Chapter Twelve: Rain

 

By the time Draco returned to his dormitory, lunch was almost over. He'd spent three hours flying around the pitch and if he didn't hurry, he was going to be late for his meeting with Granger.

He quickly pulled his favorite dark gray trousers, a white button-down, and a navy sweater his mother had gotten him out of his drawers. Then, he went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. He was ready in under ten minutes.

He didn't wear this sweater often, blue really wasn't a color he wore often. But it fit him nicely and brought out his eyes (or so his mother said). It was an easy way to add another layer of warmth to his usual outfit.

He started the long journey to the other side of the castle where the Gryffindor common room was. When he got there, he was met not by the consistently early Hermione waiting outside, but by emptiness. The portrait of the Fat Lady was the only thing in sight, so, he knocked.

He waited.

No response.

"What are you here for handsome?" The Fat Lady probed after a few moments of silence. "Miss Granger again?"

Draco nodded, his eyes meeting the painted ones in front of him. "She's usually waiting outside already when I come up," he explained. "Have you seen her?"

The Fat Lady hummed thoughtfully as she looked over her shoulder into what he assumed was their common room. "I actually don't think I've seen her since she came back from breakfast," the painting informed, sparing him a sympathetic smile. "She isn't down here."

Draco glanced at his watch again. It was now eight full minutes past one o'clock, the implication brought a lump to his throat. Hermione was never late.

His mind started to wander anxiously. Could something be wrong? Could she be avoiding him? He ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to physically remove those unwelcome thoughts.

The Fat Lady could see the boy start to sweat. "Shall I send someone to go get her?" she offered. "Her roommate, Parvati, is just inside."

He sighed in relief, his muscles relaxed, "that would be wonderful ma'am, thank you."

The Fat Lady turned around in her painting and, he guessed, was talking to Parvati on the other side, her hands gesturing dramatically. When she returned, she had a brighter smile than before, "she's gone to check their bedroom. I'm sure they'll be down soon."

He nodded at the woman and began pacing aimlessly in front of the portrait hole. Why was he suddenly feeling so nervous? It was only Hermione. And they were only going for a walk. They were going to talk and walk like they had done dozens of times. Nothing new or different, really. No need to get worked up over something so _normal_.

"The two of you have been spending an awful lot of time together," smirked the portrait knowingly, pulling him from his mental motivational speech.

"Well, I would hope to be spending most of my time with her," he shrugged. "She is my girlfriend, you know." He couldn't resist the smirk that came with calling the witch his girlfriend. He'd done it many times before, but today, it made him feel different.

Pride? Maybe.

He didn't have time to think it through because, soon after, the portrait hole was thrown open, exposing a frantic, crazy-haired, pyjama-wearing Hermione as she rushed into the cold corridor.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, I- I fell asleep," the witch apologized, her breath heavy and voice shaky from her apparent run from her bedroom.

He took in her appearance, fighting the urge to laugh.

He had never seen someone's hair stick out in so many directions. She had a thick red line on her cheek from laying on a crinkled pillow. She was trying desperately to keep her bare feet warm by moving them around on the cold, stone floor. And her pyjamas- some soft blue boxer shorts and a form-fitting yellow tank top- definitely gave him reason to smile.

She _was_ rather cute this way.

She didn't miss his eyes moving up and down her body before meeting hers, a flash of fire danced through his usually cold, gray eyes. Now, they were flowing silver, boring through her, oblivious to the time ticking by.

Hermione self-consciously moved to cover her torso a little more by crossing her arms, though she wasn't quite sure what to make of the feelings his stare caused inside of her. It wasn't offense. No, Draco's stare was much more kind than McLaggen's hungry look whenever she had to endure his presence. No one had looked at her like that as far back as she could remember. It felt oddly nice. And more butterflies migrated into her stomach as if it were Spring.

"No matter, you must have needed the sleep then. Are you hungry?" he asked thoughtfully.

She wondered why he wasn't yelling at her or even making snide comments about her appearance. She'd kept him waiting, and she knew he _hated_ waiting. It was the reason she had been making such an effort to be on time for everything. Then, she remembered what it was they needed to talk about and, again, she didn't understand why he wasn't more upset with her.

"I've missed lunch, too," Draco added with a smile that cut through the silence.

She searched his eyes for any sense of falsity, but it wasn't there. He wasn't being sarcastic, angry, or rude at all.

_Was he being… nice?_

Her eyes flickered to her fidgeting hands before meeting his again. "Yes, actually. I am getting a bit hungry," the witch answered, a new calmness to her voice.

"Okay. You go put some real clothes on, you know, something that makes sense for November weather, probably some shoes, and fix that rat's nest of yours, then come meet me at our bench?" He tried mocking her as much as he could, but his heart just wasn't in it today. Still, she grimaced and reached up to flatten out her unruly hair with little success.

"I'll go have Dobby make us some sandwiches," the Slytherin offered.

"That's… okay, that's a good plan... I really am starving," she conceded. "Twenty minutes, I'll meet you there! Thank you!"

With a smile and another attempt to tame her hair, the witch was gone, back behind the portrait. Draco turned to leave, too.

He heard a voice call out after him. "You sure are smitten with her, young man," cheeked the Fat Lady.

"No one asked your opinion!" Bit the Slytherin, not even bothering to face her.

 

* * *

  

Twenty minutes later, Hermione, back to her punctual self, was sitting peacefully on the bench watching the water glisten. It was getting colder every day, which meant the edges of the Black Lake were thinly frozen. Hermione threw a small rock gently at the water's icy edge, causing it to break.

Draco watched her curiously from behind, sandwiches, strawberries, and a thermos full of hot chocolate in hand.

She was studying the broken shards of ice and the ripples dancing around them and he wondered what was so fascinating to her. Was it the changing states of matter as time transitioned into the cold of winter? Was it the fluidity and movement of the water that had been still moments before? Or was it the way the water slowly returned to a steadiness after it seemed the soft waves would never stop.

He wondered if she felt solace in the way the world accepted the constancy of change, and he wondered if she felt the same as nature surely did. He wondered if she felt powerful in the act of disrupting things, like the ice and his mind. Or maybe she was seeking to control something, even if it was as small and meaningless as shattering a flimsy layer of ice, because she felt everything else was uncontrollable. Or perhaps she found comfort in the way everything seemed to calm down after it all, after things change and break.

Or, he thought, maybe she's just bored, and the rock was sitting there at her feet, and she just threw it, meaning nothing.

She studied the water, and he studied her.

Draco resumed his steps, closing the distance between them.

Hermione turned around when she finally heard him approaching. "Is that hot chocolate? You're being far too kind for someone who I recently assaulted in the Great Hall."

He laughed quietly as he took his seat beside her, pouring her a mug and handing her the sandwich.

He wondered how long she'd contemplated that statement before she had the courage to come out with it.

"I was hardly assaulted, Granger. Was I surprised? Sure, yeah," he trailed off. The _but I didn't mind it_ that naturally wanted to come next was kept privately in his thoughts.

"You're not going to yell at me?" she asked, confused. "You're not going to ask why?"

"What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I yelled at you?" he smirked, bumping her lightly with his shoulder. "But I am quite curious as to why. Weren't you the one who insisted we never kiss? Wasn't that _your_ rule?" Draco said taking a bite of his ham and cheese.

"Well yes," she started to look flustered. Draco took another bite pretending not to notice how uncomfortable she was feeling. "It was my idea that we don't kiss, but I obviously set that aside for a few moments."

"Why?"

She tried so hard to remain professional, her wording eloquent, but the way he was looking at her with his sharp gray eyes, attentive, and his body angled to face her... It was too much. She rarely had anyone actually listen to what she had to say, the attention Draco was giving her was overwhelming. It made her nervous.

"Well, I was at the Gryffindor table, you know, and Harry – ugh, Harry and I were talking, or arguing, really. He's under the impression that you and I are… you know… sleeping together because he knows we're off in the Room of Requirement all the time." she barely paused to take a breath, having rushed the last sentence out with such speed, he couldn't be sure that he heard her correctly.

The way her cheeks were glowing pink told him that he might have heard right, but she didn't allow him time to comment. "Then _Ronald_ came over and Ginny told him. She told him that you and I were sneaking around, _doing things_!" her temperature was rising as she grew angrier reliving the argument. "And Godric, his face was so smug. He was so bloody insistent that no, you and I couldn't have… because no one had seen us kiss before. It was a ridiculous but frightening argument, not to mention embarrassing beyond belief. It was infuriating! He threw it out there like no one would ever want to shag me, the way he said it so callously! So I told him he was wrong. I told him-"

Her rant was rudely interrupted by Draco's lips. He was kissing her this time. It was different than their first kiss, this one being slower and softer, but it still caused those odd feelings to rain throughout her body. Her heart rate quickened. Her stomach was doing flips.

Her hands suddenly wished she wasn't holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

The contact was intense; she couldn't believe the reactions it caused inside her. Not only was her heart thumping in her chest, but the butterflies in her stomach had discovered gunpowder and cannonballs.

Draco's hand was on her waist. His lips were tingling again, too. He wasn't sure what came over him. One second he was listening to her explain the events of her morning, then he was mentally thanking the weasel for being a moronic arse, then she was so flustered that he just wanted to shut her up.

So he did.

Pretending he hadn't been thinking about her lips and those tingles all morning went out the window. Self-control went out the window. Pretending this was simply physical attraction? That was out the window, too.

They had broken apart, his hand still on her waist though he wasn't leaning over her anymore. He could see the rosiness of her cheeks shining through her skin and she was looking at him.

"There was a fourth year walking by and I panicked," Draco blurted out in a panic.

Again, he'd lost control of his speech, words pouring out of his mouth before his brain could protest. "You know, it might not be such a bad idea if we kissed from time to time. Only in front of others, of course. Especially considering - did I just hear that you told Potter we're sleeping together?"

"Well, yes. Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Dean were all part of that conversation. I'm sorry," she sighed, shaking her head and taking a long drink from her mug. "I didn't exactly tell them we were sleeping together, but I didn't deny it either. It's what they're all thinking. I didn't know what to tell them, how else to explain why we're in the Room of Requirement every night."

Draco smirked at the blush that consumed her cheeks and the way she was looking anywhere but at him. He knew of the rumors about him that witches whispered throughout the castle; it was apparent that Hermione was familiar with them, too. But he'd also heard the intent to reject the rumors in her voice. That hurt.

"Do you mean that everyone thinking we're shagging each other senseless in the Room of Requirement every night is a bad thing?" he asked.

"Don't you?"

His left hand reached up to console his wounded heart in mock pain. "Merlin, Granger, that hurts." She punched his shoulder, pressing her lips together in a slim frown. "I'll have you know that the rumors are true and I'm fantastic in bed – no doubt far better than Weasley could ever be. Surely, you'd want the weasel to imagine us like that, shagging like bunnies. It would drive him mental."

Hermione had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Not when Rita Skeeter told the world she'd been both dating Harry and cheating on him with Viktor in Fourth Year; not when she sat through Snape's lecture on the contraceptive potion from her seat between Harry and Ron; not when she'd accidentally tried to check out the Kama Sutra from Madam Pince thinking it was the anthology she needed to translate for Ancient Runes.

No. Today, listening to Draco Malfoy boast of his sexual prowess compared to Ron's probable ineptitude was something that would scar her for life.

Her cheeks were stained a permanent scarlet. Her face was cast downward, her gaze unable to leave her feet.

Draco laughed trying to hide the fact that his heart was racing and his mind was in utter disarray at the thought, too. He had to play it nonchalant, he had to make her feel more comfortable.

"Hermione," he breathed, as he used his fingers to gently guide her chin toward him. "You are aware that we're not actually sleeping together, right?" She calmed the slightest bit at the joke.

Draco continued, "look, I know this is all new to you, even in the figurative form, but I don't think this is all that bad. In fact, I think your friends thinking we're physical makes our relationship stronger and more worthy of Weasley's jealousy. The way I see it, the way he will see it, I took your virginity. If he saw you as someone that would always wait around for him, well, now you're not. Now you've figuratively given me something he can never take back."

He was right. If Ron's reaction to one kiss in the Great Hall was anything to go off of, the rumor of Hermione losing her virginity to Draco Malfoy of all people would completely drive him to new levels of insanity. And even if she no longer cared whether Ron reacted at all, she clearly couldn't tell Draco that. And it would still be fun to see.

"I suppose you're right. There's nothing wrong with letting everyone _think_ that," Hermione conceded, shrugging.

"Then I imagine, It would be best for us to kiss sometimes to keep the idea going," Draco suggested, completely driven by a place far away from his brain.

But, like Draco, she spoke without her brain being consulted in the slightest. "I suppose it couldn't hurt anything… every once in a while, of course," she agreed.

"It would help our story."

"And everyone's already seen us kiss anyway."

"Right," Draco agreed.

Both teenagers sat facing each other, sandwiches half-eaten and forgotten. Neither of them knew what to say. Both were cursing themselves inwardly knowing that this was a bad idea and wondering how they went from mentally planning not to kiss, to agreeing to kiss on a regular basis.

Draco was rattled because there was no avoiding it now. He'd felt the same rush when he kissed her the second time. Draco liked Hermione. Plain and simple. And it scared him to death because he'd never actually had real feelings for someone. He'd had flings and girlfriends before, but none of them ever meant anything. But now, it was Hermione Granger, a girl his parents would never really approve of, a girl he was already pretending to date, a girl who would never see him as more than an obnoxious prat. A girl that he was lying to every day as she helped him with a project that would put her and everyone she cares about in danger.

He cursed himself.

He didn't want to do this to her. He didn't want to lie to the girl that was changing him, accepting him, appreciating him. It wasn't Hermione who had feelings for him, though. She was only using him to get back at Weasley, so it wasn't like his betrayal would change anything for her. She'd go back to hating him as if none of this happened. Maybe he could find a way to protect her somehow from afar, make sure she's somewhere on the other side of the castle when he lets the Death Eaters in. He'd hurt Hermione a normal, expected amount. He'd be the one to suffer.

On the other side of the bench, Hermione cursed herself because she thought that maybe, possibly, she was having romantic feelings for Draco. But Draco was the least convenient person to have feelings for, and kissing him was just a bad idea altogether, right? Nothing good could come of it; it will only complicate their odd situation more.

While she had decided that she would be okay with kissing him a second time (okay, yes, she'd _wanted_ to kiss him again), she wasn't sure she wanted to share all of these intimate moments with someone who saw them all as fake. She anticipated that this meant nothing to Draco– him having physically been with several people before and also that part about him not feeling anything for her the way she was starting to feel for him– but it still meant something to her. She wasn't sure how she felt about it but it seemed like they had just agreed.

Deciding it best to shake it off, Hermione stored her worries about kissing far away in a part of her brain that was rarely accessed. Their conversation shifted to other, more appropriate topics like classes and books. They discussed their slow progress on the cabinet and potential variations of the charm they could try later that night. They sat and talked, eventually conjuring a large blanket so they could lay back as they watched the thick clouds drift by.

The sky looked beautiful in the way that told you a storm was coming, and soon.

Nearby, a group of Third Years was excitedly chatting about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend. It would be the second visit of the term and everyone was surprised it hadn't been canceled considering what happened to Katie Bell last month. The girl was still in St. Mungos being treated, but she wasn't showing any signs of improvement.

The initial somber atmosphere that plagued the Gryffindor common room after the event had slowly worn off, but many of the students still gathered to talk about their friend and her wellbeing. Her absence was heavily felt despite the time that had past. Harry, for one, was stressed because his Quidditch team was struggling. She didn't understand his priorities, that emerald-eyed boy. A girl had almost _died_ , yet he was worried about the dangerous sport that always managed to cause nothing but problems.

She'd forgotten about this November Hogsmeade trip, caught up in the struggle to balance her fake relationship, social time with friends, schoolwork, and the cabinet. It somehow seemed to be getting easier as Quidditch practices picked up and most of her friends were busy with that. She'd spent more time with Draco and the Slytherins and was even starting to feel like they were becoming her friends, too.

She supposed she'd have to go to Hogsmeade with Draco. It seemed all of the couples took the opportunity to have a real date. Ginny and Dean were probably going together, Ron and Lavender probably, too. Maybe she could spend part of the time with Draco, but see if Ginny wanted to use the trip to find dresses for Slughorn's party. Girl time would be nice. It had been so long since the two had really hung out.

"Hogsmeade is next weekend," Hermione announced into the comfortable silence that had fallen between her and the blonde.

"Do you want to go?" asked Draco, looking over at her. Something about his tone told her that he didn't particularly want her answer to be 'yes.'

"Probably," she mused. Most couples go together, don't they? Why wouldn't we?"

"I was thinking we could use it as a time to work on the cabinet, you know, without anyone wondering what we're up to," explained Draco, half lying.

He'd never really enjoyed Hogsmeade trips in the past, seeing as shopping in wizarding towns was not so rare for him. There was also that haunting memory that had stuck around from last month's trip.

He'd drank himself to an all-time low when he returned from the Three Broomsticks, yet the vision of Katie Bell standing before him, glossy-eyed and weak, and then the image of her body dangling lifelessly in Hagrid's oafish arms had etched itself into his mind, and he doubted he would ever really manage to forget.

He had to do it then, but he didn't really want to go back.

"I think it would be more suspicious if we didn't go," Hermione argued. "Couples always go because they have a break from teacher oversight. I need to get a dress for Slughorn's party, so I'll probably go alone if you really don't want to." She paused, waiting for him to argue her point or insult her for being such a girl and needing a dress, but he didn't. He only nodded.

"We also don't need to be careful about who knows where we're going. Remember, Harry figured out that we've been spending most of our nights together in the Room of Requirement. He thought it meant we were… you know, using the space to be alone… together and everything. I imagine the rumor we're sleeping together will be spread around pretty quickly, so we can just let people think that for our cover," she reasoned as a blush crept onto her cheeks again just pondering the thought of everyone believing she was sleeping with him.

"That's true," he agreed with a smirk. She hit his arm harder than he expected, causing him to throw a big tantrum shouting "abuse!" and clutching his arm as if she had actually caused lasting damage.

Unlike third year when he'd been dramatic about his encounter with the hippogriff, this time the Slytherin's dramatics made her laugh. Then he began laughing, too, in defeat.

After a few moments, Draco revisited the topic of the conversation. "Okay, we can go to the Hogsmeade weekend. You are right in saying that most couples would take the opportunity for a real date," he agreed. "We'll go to a few shops, I'll take you to lunch, we'll hold hands and walk around for a few hours before you go dress shopping with the Weaselette. But you need to promise that we will diligently work on the cabinet for the rest of the week. And you can't complain when we spend an hour or two in the Quidditch store."

Hermione groaned at the last bit but agreed anyway. By his choice of words, she realized that this would be her first date ever. More conflicted feelings threatened her mind, causing her to seek a distraction.

She changed the subject to their most recent class projects. Arithmancy, magical creatures, and potions were safe topics, she reasoned. They kept her mind from thinking about Hogsmeade, about dating, and about imagined scenarios that would leave her kissing Draco in Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop for the entirety of Saturday's field trip.

They were so caught up in the conversations, in each other, that they didn't notice that the sky was growing darker above them. Hermione didn't notice the thick, grey clouds that filled the sky, because she was too focused on the similarly grey eyes that were fixed on her. Draco didn't hear the soft rumble of distant thunder because he was too focused on the sound of Hermione's voice as she gave a passionate rant about Elf rights. They were completely lost in each other's presence, that they didn't notice the violent rainstorm that was approaching their blanket…

Until they felt it.

Drops of water poured from the sky in sheets, immediately drenching Draco's conjured blanket. Gasps of surprise preceded the roaring laughter that attempted to drown out the sound of rain. Sweater dripping and heavy, Draco flicked his wand causing the remains of their picnic to follow behind him as he followed Hermione. They both ran for cover, laughing the whole way, into the warmth of Hogwarts Castle.

Their breaths were light and quick from the run and the laughter. Smiles still shone from one face to the other.

"Rainstorms in Scotland? Who would have thought?" Draco quipped, causing the curly-haired witch to giggle. She ran her fingers through the wet mess atop her head trying to calm it down again.

"I suppose that's nature's way of telling us to stop wasting away our day, isn't it?"

Draco's eyes gave a dramatic roll as he scoffed. "Wow, Granger, it is so flattering to hear that you think that spending a few hours with me is such an irresponsible waste of your time," he huffed, sarcasm filling each word. He ran a hand through his messy, wet blonde hair. "Really, that is exactly what every man wants to hear. Maybe next time I go out of my way to make sure you're- I don't know- _fed_ , I'll be sure to bring a book."

He watched her lips turn into a slight frown at that, but she didn't move to say anything. He joked again, smiling at the way an expression of combined guilt and annoyance crossed her features. "Who needs conversation when there are assignments for next month to turn in?"

The heel of her hand pushed into his shoulder, feigning offense, but her face glowed with her smile. "Okay, I get it, Malfoy. I'm a swot." Her hands rose up and her shoulders shrugged in defeat, making Draco smirk.

"But it still doesn't change the fact that I'm now drenched from head to toe, uncomfortably cold, and," she noted teasingly, "still in the presence of the world's biggest prat."

The prat in question simply shook his head at her jibe, smirking still. "You can lie to everyone else, Granger, but I've learned to see right through you." His confidence was all-too perfectly him. She rolled her eyes.

"Okay," he continued. "I can pretend I didn't hear you laughing the entire time we ran, or you can admit that you actually had fun doing something other than schoolwork, something with me."

Once again, Draco's lips contorted into a smirk. Hermione's sigh, the red that filled her cheeks, and the way she avoided his eyes were enough of an answer. He liked the way his flirtations were affecting her.

Taking her hand in his, Draco began to lead her out of the castle's foyer. "Come on, I'll walk you up to the tower so you can change out of these wet clothes and get warmed up. Then, maybe we can meet after dinner again for the cabinet?"

She let her feet follow his steps and she smiled. "Thank you. Sure, that sounds perfect."

He kissed her again before he left, tingles returning once again. The Fat Lady tried to hide her blush at the embracing students well enough for Draco not to notice. Once Hermione passed into the Common Room, the portrait piped up.

"I told him earlier that he was quite taken with you. He shooed me off, but it's obvious. You two really are a perfect match, Miss Granger. And he is very attractive," sighed the gossipy, painted witch.

"Oh please, nobody asked your opinion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday to all of my lovely readers! This week's shoutout goes to Rosabell14 for recommending a themesong for last chapter. Someone definitely should have been playing "I Won't Say I'm in Love!" Another shoutout goes to to_anyone316 for their very kind feedback in the comments! 
> 
> As always, I need to thank Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their beta work on this story!
> 
> I have two questions for you all: Would you like to see more Protective Draco? and second, what color should Hermione's dress be for Slughorn's party? Please respond in the reviews!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	13. Sleep

Chapter Thirteen: Sleep 

Broken chairs, old books, wine-stained clothing, and anything else one could imagine were strewn in mountainous piles throughout the never-ending, ever-changing room. It was dark and musty with very little light, but it was enough. Draco didn’t mind the darkness. Malfoy Manor was much cleaner than this room but it was still dark and filled with interesting objects people wanted hidden. He found the Room of Hidden Things relatively comfortable.

At first, Hermione didn’t like the room, she thought it was too cluttered and too musty. She got lost the first couple times she met him here by herself, unable to find the cabinet, but by now she had the path memorized. If she was studying with her other friends until 8:00, she’d meet him here instead of the library or her portrait hole.

Tonight was one of those nights. Draco arrived at the Room of Requirement almost fifteen minutes ago, but Hermione had still not come. Again, the usually punctual witch was late.

Draco started worrying by minute seventeen, but just as he started moving toward the door to go look for her, he heard the sounds of feet scuffling in his direction. It was probably Hermione. Not many people knew about the Room of Hidden Things, after all. Just in case, he raised his wand, finding someone rounding the last curve of the path.

“AHH!” She shouted when she registered the aggressive stance.  “Malfoy, why are you pointing that thing at me?” Hermione shrieked.

Draco lowered his wand instantly, shaking his head. “Why are you late?”

“You could have hurt me!” She shouted this too, though Draco heard a mixture of hurt and disbelief in her tone as well- as if she wondered if he’d actually wanted to hex her.

His next words emanated from someplace that the blonde didn’t regularly acknowledge. “You had me worried,” he grumbled.

She sighed and continued her walk over to him. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day. I lost track of time.”

He took in her appearance when she got closer. Her hair, always relative unruly, was presently frizzier than her cat’s ungodly orange fur, half tied back artlessly, while a pair of shadows lurked beneath her eyes. There was no spark left in her eyes at all, which, Draco would admit, was the most upsetting detail of all.

“Bloody hell, Granger, you look awful,” Draco declared without any trace of the aristocratic gentlemanliness he usually carried.

He had noticed the circles under her eyes growing darker every day, but he hadn’t mentioned it. He knew he’d looked better before this year, too. It wasn’t his place to say anything.

Today was different though.

Today, Draco couldn’t help himself. It was obvious she wasn’t sleeping much– if she was sleeping at all. She almost looked sick by the way her skin was paling, and she definitely looked like she didn’t care much about anything at all. And that wouldn’t do because he needed Hermione on top of her game if she was going to be the slightest bit helpful with the cabinet. Also, he’d admit, because he cared about her.

“Wow, you know exactly how to make a girl feel beautiful,” Hermione spat back. The witch set her book bag on a nearby broken chair and rolled up her sleeves.

She was in a worse mood than usual, too. Something was definitely wrong. Draco hesitantly walked over to her placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She shook away his hand quickly as she turned away from him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’m just tired, Draco. I’m fine.” She picked up her wand and moved closer to the cabinet, a silent plea for him to drop it.

But Draco was just as stubborn as she was; he wasn’t going to let this alone. “You don’t look fine. You look like you haven’t slept all week,” the Slytherin protested.

“Fine, you’re right,” she huffed, turning to face him, finger poking at his chest. “I’ve barely slept this week and I didn’t manage any last night so yes, I’m sorry I don’t meet your requirements for your picture-perfect girlfriend. I’m sorry I’m in a grumpy mood. I’m sorry I don’t feel like chatting a whole lot. I just want to get to work.”

“I’m not working with you until you tell me what’s bothering you. What’s keeping you up?”

“Newsflash, Draco! You aren’t my real boyfriend! No one is watching us in here! You don’t have to pretend that you care about me!”

“You honestly think I don’t care about you?” he asked, affronted.

“That’s beside the point, Draco,” she mumbled, taking a step away from him and looking at the ground.

“No it’s not,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he stepped closer to her, wanting to reach out and comfort his hurting witch. “I do care, Hermione, I have since that night on the bench.”

She sighed an unspoken apology and let his arms wrap around her. “This storm that’s been going on all week, it’s been keeping Lavender up every night. I guess she’s scared of thunder, or at least that’s what she’s playing.”

“So you can’t sleep because Lavender can’t sleep?” Draco pulled away, going to sit on a nearby broken couch. She followed.

“No, it’s that Lavender has been insisting that she needs Ron to sleep there too, so he can protect her from the storm or something similarly stupid. So he’s been staying with her every night and it’s– it’s–

“Nauseating? Inconsiderate? Torture? Against school rules?” he offered. “Wait, how does he get into the girl’s dormitory?”

“Levitation charm.” The blonde continued to look puzzled. “The stairs notice when a boy steps on them, but if they never step, they can’t stop him from floating up,” she explained.

“That’s genius!” the boy cheered, a look of awe crossing his face. That earned a strong smack on his shoulder.

“It’s a violation of school rules! And it’s keeping me up at night. They don’t just _sleep_ if you know what I mean,” said Hermione, grimacing.

“Merlin, no wonder you don’t look–” At a pointed look, he reconsidered his next words. “Have you thought about telling McGonagall?”

“I think that would make it worse, honestly. I don’t want to get professors involved. It’s okay, the storm should be over soon and I’ll be able to sleep in peace.”

Draco wasn’t sure what other advice he could offer, so he summoned Dobby to bring them some highly caffeinated tea and they set off on the cabinet.

True to her promise, they had spent almost four hours working on mending the Vanishing Cabinet every night since their afternoon picnic by the lake. They’d gotten a bit done.

Hermione had noticed a few places at the base of the cabinet where the wood was splintering. According to the brains of their relationship (as Hermione had dubbed herself when she noticed the imperfection), the deterioration of the physical cabinet may hinder its ability to form a passage. That was an easy fix. Draco, (the self-named potions expert of the relationship) spent one of their evenings brewing a batch of Forte Lignum, which was a simple household potion that could be used to restore or protect wooden furniture. It had mended the splintered base in no time. Hermione’s spell glowed the slightest bit lighter but still was an obvious blue glow.

Tonight, they needed another breakthrough, even if it was small.

“Harmonia nectere passus.”

Nothing.

“Harmonia nectere passus.”

Still nothing.

They’d tried doing the incantation at the same time. They tried repeating it and waving their wands differently, but this incantation was not working in the slightest. They needed a new spell.

“That’s it! Draco, I think… I think we need a different spell!” Hermione grinned widely.

“No, this is the one that Borgin told me to use. We just have to–

“Wasn’t it you who told me that my mind could do more?”

Her voice was forceful and fierce but the tone had no effect on the Slytherin who’s annoyance was growing. He pressed on as if he hadn’t heard her, but he had. He pressed on as if he hadn’t already relented in his mind, knowing she was right.

“It will work if we just keep trying,” he maintained, refusing to outwardly show an easy defeat.

“Don’t be silly. We’ve tried this same spell in dozens of variations. We’ve scoured every inch of this cabinet and the structure is perfect. And we haven’t been able to make a feather vanish. We need a new spell.”

“Sure, how do you expect we figure out a new spell that is not yet known to the world, hm? How do you suggest we do that?” scoffed Draco.

“Latin,” She said as if it was obvious. “Lumos, nox, levicorpus; most spells and incantations are rooted in Latin. We need to do some research in other phrases that might mean something similar to ‘fix the cabinet.’”

“Okay, so what do we need? I don’t know Latin very well,” Draco admitted. He knew it was a good idea after all. He knew Snape had made a few of his own spells. Maybe this could work.

“Dictionaries to translate,” suggested the brains, “and we should go back to our office room to make a list of possibilities.”

Once Draco agreed that it was a good idea, they rushed to the library to collect the dictionaries. It wasn’t long before they were back in their office that the Room of Requirement provided. Hermione took her usual spot on the couch, while Draco settled at the desk.

An hour went by as both students scratched ideas away onto parchment, occasionally sharing ideas or thinking of vocabulary.

“Do you think it could be ‘bond’? It might be a little too _cute_ for describing the relationship between twin cabinets. What do you think?” Draco asked.

When he didn’t receive an answer, the blonde looked at the couch where Hermione lay, asleep. The Latin book was resting on her chest, an arm lazily thrown over the edge, and her head leaning against the armrest.

He should have made her more tea or suggested they call it an early night.

Should he wake her up? No, if he woke her now, she’d either insist on working more or she’d want to go back to her room, and she definitely wouldn’t get any sleep there.

He could just let her sleep for a bit. Maybe wake her up after she’s gotten a few solid hours.

Settling on that plan, Draco conjured a soft green blanket and draped it over her sleeping figure. She did look relaxed, and Salazar knew she needed a break.

Draco returned to his own dictionary and continued to take down notes, watching the minutes on the clock tick by.

 

* * *

 

The grand clock struck four times.

Hermione rolled over in her half-asleep state, drawing the single green blanket she wore closer around her cold figure. Usually, she slept fine throughout the night, the elves bringing hot water bottles if it was going to be a cold one, but nonetheless, the Gryffindor would make best with what she had. For some reason, she was brought out of her rem cycle by the chimes of the Grand Clock.

 _Strange,_ she thought. _Usually, the chimes never carried this far throughout the castle._

Opening her eyes the slightest sliver with hopes of seeing her other blanket discarded on the floor beside her, Hermione realized she was not in her bedroom at all. The witch sat up on the couch so rapidly, the blanket fell to the floor with a light thud.

 _Our office_ ...   _How did I fall asleep in our office?_

She remembered being extremely tired. She remembered coming to this room so they could make a list of other Latin phrases that might help them. She remembered reading through the dictionary, but she could not remember falling asleep. She could not remember conjuring a blanket.

Her gaze caught the sight of blonde hair; Draco. His broad shoulders covered a large portion of his desk, his left cheek rested on the open pages of a large book. Knowing he wouldn’t catch her staring, she couldn’t help but take him in as he laid there so peacefully.

Hermione had been sure that Draco sneered in his sleep, the way the look was almost ever present on his face. But, for once, she was wrong.

And for once, she was fine with that.

He looked serene in that moment, his breath making his torso rise and fall gently.

Had Draco given her the blanket? It was green, after all. The Slytherin prat probably thought it amusing to see the Gryffindor Princess cuddled up with an emerald throw. He could have woken her up. He could have left her cold. But he had made sure she was comfortable and let her sleep, knowing she desperately needed it.

His voice rang through her memory. _“You honestly think I don’t care about you?”_

The thought made her tummy flutter.

But what now? Sleeping bent over a desk could not be very comfortable at all. Pensively, Hermione crept over to the sleeping boy, her gaze struck by the gentleness of his features. The usually hard angles appeared less prominent, his jaw seemed more relaxed.

She was struck by his attractiveness. He didn’t appear so arrogant without his signature scowl or sharp edges. Then again, his scowl had shown less and less lately, especially at her. His smile was becoming more regular than the grimace. Hermione hoped it was because of her, but she knew that none of this was real. Still, his mouth looked so much nicer when its corners were turned up.

“Draco,” she whispered.

He didn’t move. “Draco, wake up,” she tried a bit louder. Still, no response.

She reached out to shake his shoulder, “Dra–

The blonde head shot off the book like a torpedo, adrenaline obviously fueling his agility. His right hand reached out to grab the one that touched his shoulder with incredible force, looking up into the face of his attacker.

He softened but did not release the hand. “Hermione?” he asked softly, fight-or-flight reaction ebbing away.

“I– I’m sorry, I shouldn't have tried to wake you, it’s just that–”

Her voice, shaky and scared, trailed off. She hadn’t meant to frighten him.

Draco observed the woman in front of him. He could see her eyes were wide, her breath was fast. Her hand was shaking ever so slightly in his fist. He released it quickly, realizing his perceived threat was anything but and feeling awful about his reaction. He didn’t miss the slight step backwards she took.

The brief look of fear that crossed her face made him feel more like a monster than becoming a Death Eater ever had.

“Merlin, Hermione I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” he said, calling a mental prayer into the world hoping that he hadn’t injured her in any way.

“No, it’s okay, it was an accident,” she offered. While he was currently hating himself for becoming like the paranoid, defensive assailant he hated his father for being, he hated it more that this incredible witch was blaming herself for his inexcusable reaction.

“No, it’s not okay, I frightened you! I grabbed you, even.” He stood up to be closer to her. She didn’t move away this time.

She could see the sorrow and shame in his face, he really hadn’t meant any harm. It was instinct, nothing personal.

“I’m not sure when we fell asleep. We’re still in the Room of Requirement.”

Draco looked around the room as if realizing his environment for the first time. He seemed only momentarily confused.

“You fell asleep around eleven I think. You were exhausted, I didn't want to wake you. I figured I’d let you get a few hours before waking you up to go back. Obviously, I was quite tired myself,” he explained thoughtfully.

Hermione smiled. “It’s just after four now, we should go back. It wouldn’t be good to be seen leaving here at nine when other students are out and about.”

“Our roommates are going to realize we’ve been out so late. They’re going to assume...” He trailed off, letting her mind fill in the sentence with what they were both thinking.

Harry had suspected earlier that week. He made it sound like more of a statement than speculation, though. Now Lavender, Blaise, Theo, and Ronald – assuming he stayed with Lavender again – would validate the rumors.

None of their roommates were very good at minding their own business.

Hermione pulled her shoulders back in mock confidence, “Let them think what they want, everyone was assuming we were… anyway.”

“Okay,” Draco said lamely.

“Walk me back? It’s so dark,” she hesitated, wondering if that request would be too much after the odd night they’d had.

He had let her sleep, made her comfortable, and he seemed genuinely sorry for startling her with his aggressive, defensive instinct. She wondered if this new, kind and caring, Malfoy had an expiration date. Had she received more than her day’s worth? Would he mind spending a little more time with her?

“Of course.”

Draco Malfoy, the gentleman.

They stored the new Latin books on the shelves and set off down the corridor. Draco’s left hand held his wand high in the air, alight with a Lumos that cast enough light for them both to see three feet in front of them. Draco’s right hand was draped around Hermione’s waist, holding her close.

He smelled like pine trees and he smelled like rain.

Just like always.

“Thank you for the blanket by the way. It was very thoughtful,” Hermione said sweetly as they walked.

“I couldn’t let you get cold. You’d get sick.”

She had come to anticipate his coolness, using an insulting tone to cover his true meaning. It had gotten himself far at Hogwarts, no one really understanding the true Draco Malfoy. But Hermione had come to accept that nonchalance was Draco’s specialty; it was simply his Slytherin way of going about compliments.

His words were not particularly sweet or romantic, but Hermione heard something else hidden between the sentences he said. ‘I couldn’t let you get cold,’ _I care about you._ ‘You’d get sick,’ _I will protect you_. She didn’t know how to feel about that statement, but she understood.

They walked in comfortable silence for a few more minutes before they reached The Fat Lady. The portrait eyed Hermione sharply for the lateness of her return, but she wasn’t saying anything, and for that, both students were grateful.

His arm was still wrapped around her waist in the comforting way that had become familiar. Their bodies were close together when she turned in his grasp to face him, a tired smile playing at her lips. “Thanks for walking me back, Draco. I’ll see you tomorrow, noon?”

“I’ll always walk you back, Granger. And yes, noon is perfect.” His arms constricted around her and she realized she was being hugged.

_Had Draco Malfoy ever hugged someone before?_

_He’s good at it._

He softly kissed her forehead, sending tingles throughout her body and a blush to spread onto her cheeks.

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

“Goodnight, Draco,” she smiled back, waiting only a moment as he disappeared around the corner before passing through the portrait hole and up into her dormitory.

If Ron was there, she didn’t notice. Everything was quiet as she climbed into her four-poster, clothes and all, drifting off once again to a happy sleep.

 

* * *

 

It must have been nearly five in the morning when Ron finally heard the dormitory door click open.

What was she thinking- staying out so late? He’d gotten in and out of Lavender’s lumpy bed a dozen times, wondering if he should go search for her. He’d been thinking himself into a worried state of panic and anger for the last three hours.

And, worse, he couldn’t decide if it was a concern for her safety, or jealousy that ruled his frustrations.

Ron didn’t need the Marauders Map to know that she’d been out with Malfoy.

Ginny’d told him that Hermione left the library around eight after realizing she was going to be late for her standing date with the ferret. His sister also mentioned that she was growing concerned about Hermione, explaining that she’d been looking rather exhausted and even seemed unfocused while they studied.

An unfocused Hermione was surely a sign that something was off. He wondered if maybe she was starting to regret dating the Ferret. Maybe, she was starting to see the foul git he was. But then Ron remembered the way she appeared to be almost falling asleep in History of Magic. Binns was boring beyond belief, and Ron himself had fallen asleep probably more often than he’d stayed awake, but Hermione could always be counted on to give her full attention to the needlessly mundane lectures.

 _She mustn't be getting much sleep, either,_ thought Ron.

Lavender had made an annoying, ridiculous demand for him to stay with her every night that week. He hadn’t listened as she explained the reason, preferring to tune out her sugar-sweet voice whenever possible.

At first, he didn’t really mind because it meant he’d get away from Neville’s snores, he’d get to be around Hermione more, and he’d probably get laid– which was always a plus, even if he didn’t actually like the witch who offered. But the whole sleepover plan took a dreadful turn extremely fast.

Lavender snored louder than all of the boys put together. She wanted to shag three or four times a night and threw a tantrum every time he rejected her with a cry of ‘don’t you think I’m sexy, Won-Won?’ Did she not realize a man needed sleep? Even when she was sleeping, she would move around so much it kept him awake and gave him bruises. Worst of all, though, would definitely be hearing Hermione come back late into the night.

It had been midnight or one o’clock pretty consistently the past few days, but tonight, it was almost morning by the time she got into bed.

Ron hated the thought of what she’d been doing all night. Visions passed through his mind like a revolting montage: Hermione smiling at Malfoy over her books, Hermione leaning against Malfoy, Hermione’s curly brown hair being invaded by the ferret’s pale fingers, Hermione snogging Malfoy.

It _disgusted_ him.

The visions continued, painting worse and worse pictures in Ron’s mind.

Ron’s blood was boiling. He moved from Lavender’s unconscious grasp and laid on top of the blankets. The cool air did not help his bitter green feelings.

Hermione was too good for a snake like Malfoy.

Hell, as far as Ron saw it, Hermione was too good for anyone.

Crossing his arms and turning his back on the sleeping blonde witch beside him, Ron tried to summon memories of Hermione laying on him, Hermione smiling at him over her newest book. It calmed him only slightly, but it was enough to allow him to be consumed by sleep.

He dreamed of fire, and destruction, and Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! I hope you enjoyed this week's chapter! Shoutouts this week for EVERYONE who responded with their suggestions about protective Draco and the color of Hermione's dress! You'll see how your input helped shape the next chapter next Friday!
> 
> I've decided to change the rating for this fic to M. I will be making this change in order to allow for a bit more freedom for vulgar language. This will definitely not turn into a big smutfest, nor will the characters instantly start cursing every other sentence. No, that wouldn't be realistic. What you can expect is a few more curse words here and there. I will change the rating to Mature next Friday when I post!
> 
> Big Beta love for Rachelletwin2! Any errors that remain are my own (but you can message me about them so I can fix them!)
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) I'm starting to write a few one-shots that spin off this fic, so you won't want to miss those!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	14. Green

Chapter Fourteen: Green

 

Draco was awoken the next morning by the loud, shuffling sounds of his inconsiderate roommates. He'd left his bed curtains open the night before, not particularly caring to exert the extra effort that pulling them shut would have been. And though the fault may partially be accredited to his own laziness, he was still rather annoyed.

Not committing to becoming a full participant in the day yet, he opened his right eye just wide enough to take in the scene of the room.

Goyle was currently upturning his entire trunk in an attempt to find a shoe, sending explicatives flying with every passing minute. Theo was tying and retying and _retying_ his tie as his forehead crinkled and he attempted to chew off his bottom lip. Blaise was the worst though, the loudest. He was singing a rather annoying song about Theo and Daphne (who were sitting in a tree for some reason) from the shower.

The blonde rolled over, burying his head in his pillow to muffle the noises. He wasn't tired, actually. He felt more well-rested than he had in weeks. Other than the stiffness in his back and an ache from his neck from sleeping so long in that mahogany chair, he felt great.

Draco was simply not a morning person. Besides that, Blaise's idiotic singing would be enough to drive him into his pillow at any point in the day.

The pillow wasn't working. He groaned.

"Finally," called Goyle's loud voice, looking over his shoulder. "He's awake!"

A scowl took over Draco's face. "No thanks to you idiots," he grumbled. Blaise's laugh floated through the room causing Draco's annoyance to deepen.

"Would it have killed you to cast a silencing charm?" he asked.

Goyle smirked, "Well, no, I suppose we could have, but then we wouldn't have the pleasure of pissing you off."

Draco threw the unhelpful pillow across the room where it collided with Goyle's ugly face. The oafish boy grunted at the impact, but finally had found that left shoe. He hastened to put it on.

On the other side of the room, Theo was now working on a different tie altogether, this one a gunmetal gray instead of his usual black. He was nervous and muttering nonsensically under his breath.

 _Right,_ thought Draco, remembering. _Hogsmeade today._

Theo had entertained a crush on Daphne Greengrass since third year and finally, after years spent becoming the witch's best friend, the idiot had worked up the courage to ask her out. To everyone's great surprise, the pretty witch had happily agreed. Draco knew that in Theo's eyes, their date in Hogsmeade that day would be the pivotal moment in his life. Can he be smooth, attentive, and funny enough to keep his dream girl entertained? Or, would he be the typical, floundering, nervous prick he usually was and ruin his chances? Would a more romantic relationship befit the Pureblood pair? Or would friendship be all they are destined for?

Or worse, would this date- tea and scones and sweets at the awful Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop- ruin the close friendship they'd formed?

Draco found great humor in watching his roommate squirm with stress. Poor bloke had no idea how to interact with ladies.

"If you don't pull yourself together soon, mate, you'll be late, and then you'll never stand a chance with her," teased Draco after sitting up on the edge of his bed and finding the clock nearing nine.

Theo glanced at the clock, too, his nerves instantly kicking into hyperdrive. Draco smiled.

Some students, like each of his roommates, preferred to go early in the morning and stay in the village all day. That wasn't really Draco's preference. He'd been through similar wizarding villages far too often to find the little street of Hogsmeade to be all that extraordinary. Thankfully, that was alright with Hermione. The two of them had decided to do lunch, and spend time together until Ginny finished a date of tea with Dean Thomas. Then, Draco would be free to go back to the castle while the girls went shopping.

He smiled to himself as he thought about the day. Or rather, the date.

If anyone asked, Draco would definitely say that he was excited about an afternoon with Hermione outside of the castle, and not only because he was her fake boyfriend and that's what a good boyfriend would say.

Everything had been so focused and planned the last few weeks. It was lunches. It was classes. It was homework in the library until the cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things. It was the occasional walk around the castle, or break on their bench, but for as much time he was spending with Hermione Granger, he really hadn't done much hanging out with her.

Sure, they were together almost constantly, and he enjoyed whenever she was around no matter what they were doing, but he still was excited to be around her without the weight of school or the task pressing down on them.

Like that very first night when he ran into her in the kitchens and listened to her rant as they walked throughout the empty castle halls, he knew an afternoon spent with Granger would be exactly what he needed after a week of vanishing cabinet stress.

It would be fun, after all. Hogsmeade, holding hands, and showing her off. He'd probably get to kiss her, too.

Blaise returned to their dorm room with a white towel wrapped around his waist tightly, a smug look on his face. "You know all about being late, don't you Draco?" He smirked as he started on dressing himself. "You came back pretty late last night," he remarked with a foolish confidence. "Or maybe, you prefer to say early this morning. By my watch, it was almost five by the time you got in."

"Since when are you my keeper, Zabini?" the blonde snarled.

He didn't think anyone noticed when he came in after walking Hermione back to Gryffindor tower. No one had stirred, anyway. But obviously, Blaise had noticed. Not that it really mattered, though.

Blaise just radiated more of his annoying confidence. "Let me guess," he smirked. "You were with Hermione?"

The way he referred to her by her given name made Draco's jaw tighten unconsciously. Blaise noticed. Draco just ignored the comment, preferring not to get into this particular argument so early in the morning. He was in a relatively good mood considering he'd been woken up so rudely. There was no point in ruining it by giving into Blaise's provocations.

Taking pity on Theo, Draco set to work on the gunmetal tie, tying it perfectly. The nervous roommate offered a thankful and silent smile. Draco offered an encouraging one back.

"You're in a good mood today," Goyle commented, reaching for his coat.

"I think that means I was right," Blaise boasted, buttoning the last button on his black shirt.

The blonde took a breath, schooling his features to remain neutral. _Just ignore him,_ he repeated in his mind. _Just ignore him._

He focused his eyes on Theo in front of him. "You'll do fine, mate," Draco encouraged. "She likes you enough to say yes already."

Theo nodded but didn't really seem to have heard.

"I was definitely right," Smirked Blaise, firing a wink at Goyle who chuckled, shaking his head as he looked at his shoes.

Finally relenting to his annoyance, Draco narrowed his eyes at the dark Italian. "Careful, Zabini," he warned.

"What? You can't really be upset with me," Blaise reasoned. " You're the one that came back so late. " The pompous boy smirked, donning his coat.

"We were brainstorming what might have been keeping you," Goyle chimed in leaning against his bedpost. "By three, we had lots of ideas."

All of Draco's energy was being used to maintain a mask of indifference.

"With the way Hermione had been looking lately, we assumed you two were having a major row," explained Blaise. "But then, we thought about it."

Goyle nodded at the floor. Blaise continued. "You wouldn't last a week of Hermione's wrath. She's a feisty one," the Italian smirked, making Draco want to be sick. "She'd eat your pathetic ego alive."

"Granger and I are great," the blonde promised coolly, beginning to dress with a careful quickness. His annoyance was growing with every word that poured out of Blaise's arrogant mouth and he wanted to leave.

"Well," Blaise taunted, "that was only our first idea. Like we said, we had many different ideas." He shrugged in a way that told Draco that he felt like the smartest guy in the room.

Blaise was wrong, of course. If he had any sort of intelligence, he would shut up immediately.

To Draco's dismay, he didn't.

"We thought that if you two weren't fighting, you must be shagging like bunnies."

Draco's jaw clenched at the brashness.

"Or," the asshole drawled, continuing, "maybe it was both?"

The whole dormitory lit up with a blue light as Blaise was sent flying. Draco's furious knockback jinx had the offending friend crashing painfully into his desk on the other end of the room. Blaise's lower back had collided with the edge of the wooden desk so hard, he knew with certainty that a harsh bruise was forming already.

"It appears you have underestimated me, Zabini," seethed Draco with white-hot anger. "I've warned you once already; I do not want to hear you say another word about Hermione."

Crabbe, who had woken up at the loud bang that had rung throughout the dorm with Draco's jinx, was staring uncomfortably at the unnatural heap of Blaise's body parts. Blaise was slowly trying to sit himself up on the floor, but each movement ached and each throb inside his head was intense.

Draco took a step toward the end of his own bed, toward the exit. "Let this be another warning," he threatened. "Next time, you best hope Madam Pomfrey has room for you in the hospital wing. I won't be so gentle."

Grabbing his cloak roughly from the end of his bed, Draco fired a stinging jinx over his shoulder for good measure, hitting his mark perfectly.

And with that, Draco grabbed his broom and a cloak, and swept purposefully from the dungeons.

* * *

When noon came around, Draco found Hermione waiting for him just outside her portrait hole, as usual. She wore a dark pair of muggle jeans that made her legs look a mile long, a simple grey sweater, and a long coat that looked warm. The outfit made her look beautiful in the most simple way. Her hair was tied back in a french twist, probably done with Ginny's help, and her neck was covered with none other than Draco's Slytherin scarf.

He'd given it to her weeks ago for Quidditch matches, but he hadn't seen her wear it yet.

Scarves made a statement at Hogwarts. They not only showed house support, but they were a symbol of a serious relationship. Wearing your significant other's scarf said more than, "I'm taken," it was almost a promise, a warning. Hermione wearing Draco's scarf said, "I'm Draco's. Don't mess with me. Don't mess with him. We've gotten serious."

He didn't expect to feel the warmth that spread through his body just knowing that she was comfortable making that claim. She was his.

_Not really, of course. This is all an act._

He'd have to keep his thoughts in check.

The couple wandered in and out of shops collecting a few things they needed along the way. Draco picked up some potions ingredients at the apothecary and Hermione purchased a bottle of new ink at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop.

They held hands the entire afternoon, rarely breaking the contact. Draco struggled to hold back a laugh when they passed a panicked looking Theo who was following the beautiful Daphne into Madam Puddifoot's.

Noticing the half-hidden mirth in his eyes, Hermione silently asked for an explanation. Draco wrapped his arm around her shoulders bringing her closer so he could explain Theo's behaviour in a whisper. She laughed along with him once Theo was out of sight, no doubt inside the perfume-filled tea shop.

They decided to have lunch at the Three Broomsticks, much to Draco's concern. He hadn't seen Rosmerta since he Imperiused her and he wasn't sure how being around her now would affect the curse. His heart rate was accelerating as they approached the pub, Hermione, who seemed to notice but politely didn't ask questions, squeezed his hand.

Merlin, he felt awful for lying to her like this. She didn't deserve to be dragged along in such ways, but what else was he supposed to do? It's not like he could just skip out on the Dark Lord's plan for him. He drove the thoughts from his mind. He'd have to keep his composure. He'd have to keep thoughts of his business with the Dark Lord and his business with Hermione separate. Well, on the Dumbledore task at least.

He released her hand to open the door for them both, allowing her to walk through first. She settled on a seat near the window, draping her coat over the back of her chair and smiling at a few friends that were scattered around the populated pub. She unwrapped the scarf but kept it draped lazily over her shoulders so everyone could still see that Gryffindor's Princess wore green and silver today.

Draco, absentmindedly massaging an uncomfortable itch on his left forearm, joined her, removing his cloak and draping it over his chair, too.

Madam Rosmerta's eyes met his from across the room. She stared at him for a fraction longer than she would any other customer before making her way over to their table. Her eyes were so slightly glazed. When she looked at Draco, she appeared to see right through him.

Madam Rosmerta didn't notice a thing.

To Draco's great relief, the bar maiden took their orders and returned quickly with their drinks.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Seamus were only a few tables away. Ron fired a glare at Hermione every few minutes while Harry looked pained by how hard he was trying not to look over at the couple at all.

"What's their deal?" Draco asked.

"Well, like you said last night, we'd be confirming certain rumors with how late we were out together. I didn't think Ron was awake when I got back to my room, but I guess he heard me come in. He's a little bitter about it I guess. And I'm sure Harry is just uncomfortable with the situation and trying to ignore it. He doesn't mind that we're dating, but this… new information is hard for him to swallow," explained Hermione with a blush.

"Weasley's a hypocrite."

"Yes, well, he's always been quick to anger. He is the same with Ginny and Dean. I've learned to ignore it."

He looked at her, really looked at her, not through her or past her. Her kindness baffled him. How she could look past such monstrous faults in her friends truly amazed him. She was strong and opinionated, but she carried herself with incredible grace. She wouldn't outwardly show how much they were hurting her.

Draco slid his tongue over his lips, marveling at how dry they were. He eyed a curl that fell delicately against Hermione's cheek, pausing, and considered for a moment how smooth the skin of her cheek would feel beneath his fingers if he were to just reach out; to twine the loose curl gently around his finger; to reverently brush it away.

Before his body was able to put these thoughts in action, Hermione reached up with her own hand to gently push the ringlet out of her eyes. She tucked it behind her ear only for it to fall loose again. She made a second unsuccessful attempt as he watched the stray curl fall toward the table once again.

Draco, impatient and overwhelmed by new emotions, reached out tenderly, twisting the caramel curl around his finger before tucking it back into her twist.

It stayed.

Her cheeks, brightening with soft pink color, were softer than he imagined.

And he'd only stolen the briefest touch.

She smiled and looked up to meet his eyes, a glowing silver again, "Thank you, Draco. My hair can be such a pain sometimes. It took Ginny a half hour and I can't help but ruin it."

"You look stunning," he answered automatically. And he meant it.

The complement and the gesture made her blush and sent that butterfly feeling back into her stomach. She smiled at him and he smiled back, one that looked real. She fiddled with the ends of his scarf, reminding herself that this was all just for show. He was simply getting better at acting.

Not long after lunch, Hermione walked Draco back to the edge of Hogsmeade. To his great annoyance, there hadn't been a great moment to kiss her at any point of their Hogsmeade trip, but he took the opportunity of bidding each other goodbye as his chance.

Again, his arm naturally found her waist, his other hand gently easing her chin to his height. He smiled and took her lips in his. It was simple, and they didn't deepen it like they had in the great hall for others to see. None of the students around them paid them any mind, but this kiss was for him. Even if she didn't, couldn't, wouldn't know it.

With a smile and wave, Hermione turned and walked back to the village, off to find her friends. Draco couldn't help but watch as she walked away. There wasn't a skip in her step, nor a sway in her hips that would draw any teenage boy's attention, but with every few steps, a breeze would blow past her sending the scarf, in all it's green and silver glory, to sway where he could see it.

He liked seeing his colors on her.

Draco began his walk back to the castle, cursing himself for these thoughts. The day had felt so comfortable. It had been too easy to pretend, to hold her hand, to whisper in her ear. Being with her had felt like the most natural thing in the world, as though he belonged by her side.

Draco was in deep trouble, and he knew it.

* * *

Harry saw the scowl on Ron's face deepen (somehow), as he watched Hermione lean into Malfoy, the Slytherin's arm draping posessively across her shoulder as they left the Three Broomsticks together.

Ron raised his amber-coloured drink to his lips and took a long swill.

Subtlety wasn't exactly one of Ron's prominent qualities.

But jealousy was. Jealousy definitely was.

Harry followed his friend's gaze to catch the familiar, pretty profile of Hermione laughing. Malfoy had a bright, triumphant smile that lit up his his whole body, as if making her laugh had been one of the most impressive feats he had ever accomplished.

Even through the dull screen provided by the dusty windows of the pub, Harry could see that the couple was happy. The sheer elatedness that they currently personified made Harry want to smile, too.

But Ron's scowl now looked painful.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, though he certainly knew the answer already. Harry wasn't usually observant, but he knew Ron better than anyone. It seemed that every time Ron saw Hermione with Malfoy, Ron's jaw would tighten and one of his veins would become creepily prominent on his neck.

Ron glanced over. _Ahh, yes,_ Harry thought, _the vein was definitely there._

"Nothing," Ron grumbled, reaching for his butterbeer again.

"It isn't nothing, Ron," argued Harry, his green eyes narrowing. "Why don't you just tell me?"

"Since you already seem to know so much about everything going on in my mind, why don't you tell me, Harry?"

They glared at each other for quite some time, long enough for Seamus and Neville to engage themselves in an animated conversation about wizarding history. Harry wondered why they had chosen a topic so dull as their eavesdropping cover. Still, Harry appreciated the gesture.

Harry relented. "I think you miss Hermione," he declared with confidence. "Actually, I know you do. You've always transformed into this uncaring, sullen prat every time you two fight. Or did you forget I've been a part of all of those?"

Ron's mouth opened as if to defend himself, but Harry didn't allow him to get anything out.

"It's worse this time, though." Harry's chin lifted slightly, challenging. "This time, you're messier. Your emotions bounce all over the place and I think I know why. I think you're conflicted. You want to be mad at her, you want to shut her out, but pushing her away just pushes her closer to Malfoy, and that upsets you more. You'll lash out in one minute and then protect her in the next."

Briefly, Ron's eyes widened, before they turned dark. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Hermione and I fight all the time. We fight, we stay away for a while, we forget about the stupid fight, and then we make up. That's how we work," he explained.

"But is this really staying away? Physically, maybe, but you sure are spending an awful lot of time and energy worrying about her."

Ron shrugged sourly, briefly meeting Harry's eyes with a flicker of a glare. "That's Malfoy she's with," he stated. "Of course I'm worried."

Harry shrugged, too, not wanting his next words to come off as too much of a judgement. "I know it's Malfoy, but Hermione is capable of taking care of herself. Besides, I just think there may be better ways to spend your time."

"No," warned Ron fiercely. "If you're about to turn our one day off from practice into another one of your Quidditch Captain motivational speeches, I'll quit."

"I wasn't going to say Quidditch," defended Harry, his eyes rolling.

"What then?"

"I don't know, maybe your girlfriend?" Harry quipped.

The redhead's scowl immediately returned to his face. "Oh, don't even," he warned. "I pay plenty of attention to Lavender. She doesn't seem to have a problem."

Harry scoffed into his mostly-empty butterbeer. "Godric knows why," he murmured.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Ugh, Harry thought. He really hadn't been in the mood for dealing with Ron in this agitated state. But, he supposed, it was his duty as Ron's best friend.

"Aren't you supposed to be with her right now? On a date?"

Ron looked over at the watch on Seamus' wrist and stiffened momentarily before hunching over his almost-empty drink. His fingers drummed a beat on the glass of his mug, and it was clear that meeting Harry's eyes had become a difficult task.

"I thought you were supposed to meet her at Madam Puddifoot's ten minutes ago," Harry tried again.

Ron's anxious behaviours stilled, but his eyes were wide and focused somewhere behind Harry's head. "Oh, right," Ron said with fake surprise. His acting skills did not deserve the slightest bit of praise. "I guess time must have slipped by me," he explained with a shrug.

But still, Ron didn't get up to actually go meet her.

Instead, Neville and Seamus offered to get another round of butterbeers for the table, another excuse.

But at least this one offered them real privacy.

"This isn't fair, Ron," admonished Harry once the other boys were out of earshot. "Do you think Lavender deserves to be treated like this?"

Silence fell as Ron ran both hands through his thick hair and then down his face. He chose not to respond, but this was answer enough.

"Then go see her, Ron," urged Harry, gesturing to the door incredulously.

"I don't know, Harry, I- I can't."

"And why not?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, I just- I don't really want to spend time with her right now, especially _there_ of all places. I hate Madam Puddifoot's. It's so lovey and obnoxious and- I'm already in a pretty shitty mood-"

"I hadn't noticed," Harry said snarkily, earning himself a glare.

Ron sighed, his hands finding his red head of messiness once again. "What do I do mate?" he finally looked at Harry. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I've fucked everything up so much but I just keep pushing because I don't know what else to do and…"

The sentence hung, unfinished. The guilt that weighed in Ron's blue eyes left him looking pained. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't know where to go from here," he continued in a quieter voice.

Harry let out a long sigh. "Look, Ron, I just think you need to sort out your priorities a bit. You clearly need to fix things with Hermione, preferably before you end up doing something completely stupid, and it isn't right to treat Lavender like this, so you need to do something about her, too," said Harry. "Do you even like her?"

Ron took another long drink from his cup, and soon, the drink was gone.

"Hermione, or Lavender?"

Well, Harry supposed that was part of the problem.

"Lavender," Harry clarified, though he shouldn't have had to.

"I do like Lavender," he stated after an almost-too-long-hesitation. "She's cute. She definitely likes me," he shrugged. "And she is very upfront about everything, which makes my life so much easier. Hermione hides things too well, and I'm always expected to figure it out. Lavender, though, will just tell me. It was really nice… at first, I guess."

"What do you mean, _at first_?"

Well, I thought it was nice to not have to wonder how a witch was feeling. It was a weird type of relaxing," he tried to explain. "I never had to think. After spending so much time around Hermione, I think I needed the break. But," he trailed off searching for the words. "I think now I've learned that not thinking gets unbelievably boring. And my mind starts to wander..." He trailed off again, glancing out the window. The place he chose to look was very close to where Hermione had previously been.

"I still like Lavender," Ron reassured quietly. "I just- I think I've realized that I still like Hermione, too. I know that's a shitty thing to say, and trust me, I wish didn't. Everything would be so much easier if I never fell for Hermione or if I never kissed Lavender back. But for now, I'm just confused and- and maybe I should try to talk to her."

Harry smirked, "Hermione, or Lavender?"

Ron shrugged again. "Both, don't you think?"

Harry nodded again, thankful that this conversation seemed to be reaching its end and everyone still had ten fingers.

Harry's mind wandered back to Hermione, and by the sad look in Ron's eyes, Harry thought his probably had, too.

"I think she's moved on though," Harry voiced the thought that they both had.

"It's Malfoy, Harry. She can't really be interested in that ferret, can she?"

"You saw that smile on her face," said Harry. "It seems like she likes him a lot, actually." The new knowledge of Hermione's late, _late_ , _**later**_ nights flowed through both of their minds, but neither of them could bring it up.

Again, Ron's gaze found the place outside the window where Hermione had last been, her petite frame curled cozily into the ferret's shoulder, her eyes fixed on him, his scarf draped around her neck for all to see… and Harry was right. That smile didn't leave much room for interpretation.

The late nights didn't help either.

Ron knew that Malfoy must mean something to her if she was willing to give him… herself.

He physically drooped at the thought, sinking into the seat as if he wanted to be swallowed by it.

Neville set the new drink down in front of Ron, and he quickly took it up in his hands, taking a sip.

"I think you need to accept it, mate," Harry was saying. "She's happy with him. You need to accept that and be okay with just being her friend."

At that point, Ron lifted his drink and finished it in one long, unnecessary swill. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to face Harry. "Easier said than done," he said.

The bell at the entrance of the bar chimed with the entrance of Dean Thomas. Harry watched the fiery red hair of Ginny bounce away outside, Hermione following closely behind.

 _Trust me, I know,_ Harry wanted to add. Dean took a seat beside them, and Harry held back the bitter green feelings that welled up in him.

He definitely knew. 

* * *

"Sometimes he's so clingy though, I can't stand it," roared Ginny from the other side of the dressing room divider.

"How do you mean?" asked Hermione as she shimmied into the next cocktail dress, this one a deep midnight blue.

Ginny stepped out of her dressing room into the showroom of Gladrags Wizardwear and looked herself over in the mirror with a highly critical eye. No, the gold dress was far too shiny for Slughorn's party, it made her look like a bauble.

Hermione stepped out of the dressing room to join her friend, taking her own turn in front of the trifold mirror.

"I just mean he's always got to be right around me. I feel like I can never escape him. He met me after class one day and I'd stopped at the ladies and he stood right outside. I only had ten minutes to get to my next class anyway, there was no need for him to wait for me," explained Ginny, causing Hermione to laugh.

"That dress is a little too dark for a Holiday, don't you think? You could be going to a funeral in that," the bold witch added.

They both returned to their dressing rooms to try on the next.

"On top of all that," Ginny continued her rant, "Harry brought Dean onto the quidditch team so even more of my time is in his annoying presence."

"Wouldn't most girls like to be around their boyfriend as much as possible?" Hermione asked.

Ginny's next dress was light blue with little touches of silver lace around the edges. Her immediate reaction was that it was too sweet for her, but she'd show Hermione anyway. She entered the showroom again.

"Sure, Hermione most girlfriends enjoy being around their man, and I do, too. That's not what I meant. Just… don't you sometimes just need to be away from Malfoy?"

 _Well, no, not really_ , she thought.

She never minded having him around. He was actually rather comforting a lot of the time. She had to remind herself that her relationship wasn't a real one like Ginny's, even if it felt like it sometimes.

A lot of the time.

She huffed, color rushing to her cheeks, before meeting Ginny once again.

"What's gotten into you?" gaped Ginny.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're blushing!" she shrieked. "Either you find me ravishingly attractive in this cute baby blue dress, or you love Draco Malfoy."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione asked again, this time more frantically as even more color filled her cheeks.

"Hermione, you're a tomato just thinking about him. Merlin, you must really, really like him! I've never seen you react like that and we've discussed boys plenty of times."

Ginny sat on a nearby lounge seat, but her body still faced her best friend.

To escape the scrutiny of Ginny's relentless gaze, Hermine moved to stand in front of the mirror. She thought that if she pretended to be busy with her dress, Ginny might forget about the hanging question.

But Hermione didn't expect for the dress to actually render her speechless, completely unable to respond even if she did know what to say.

She picked up the skirt of her dress and let the fabric gently cascade back to the floor. The silver fabric shimmered in the movement, reminding her of the moon shimmering on the black lake, of Slytherin banners swaying in the Great Hall, of Draco's eyes just after he kisses her.

She knew then, in an instant, that she would be wearing this dress to the party.

The top was fitted with a shiny material that was equally feminine and strong, but the bottom flowed with weightless layers. The skirt, with its mixture of silvers and grays mingling effortlessly like clouds as they pass by, felt carefree and almost dangerous.

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other and the dress swayed at the movement. Her mind kept coming back to Draco's eyes and she didn't want to look away.

Ginny crossed her arms, growing tired of waiting. Four minutes had passed and Hermione still hadn't spoken up. Ginny vacated the chair and moved right between Hermione and the mirror, blocking her view of the dress.

Hermione sighed and met Ginny's eyes. "I suppose, yes. I do have feelings for Draco."

"I'd hope so, you've been dating two months," Ginny sneered sarcastically. "And you wore his scarf today– don't think that went unnoticed... You know what I mean, Hermione. Do you love him?"

Too much weight was carried in that last question. _Do you love him?_ Yes or no. All or nothing. Black and white. But was that really how love worked? Did it hit you all at once, or does it take time to float in and set its footing in your heart?

She felt suffocated, attacked by the question, trapped by the rules of their fake relationship.

She wasn't supposed to have feelings for him at all. And what's worse, she felt ridiculous for even taking the time to contemplate Ginny's question. Why did she hesitate? Could she possibly consider feeling such an emotion toward Malfoy?

Ginny's gaze was still fixed, undetecting Hermione's hurricane of thoughts. She'd have to say something, Ginny was too stubborn.

"I'm not sure I know what love feels like, but I think I have read enough books to know that it would be something spectacular."

"Maybe soon then," Ginny offered pleasantly, her vibe reminding the brunette of Luna.

"That dress is too _sweet_ for you, Ginny. No lace."

"I think I'm going with that first blue one, then. But you should get this dress," she agreed, pulling at the chiffon on Hermione's skirt sending it floating like fresh silvery snow back to its place on her hips.

"I think I will."

"Draco won't be able to keep his hands off of you," smirked Ginny as she retreated back into the dressing room, leaving Hermione and her already pink cheeks to grow even darker.

She smiled.

If this were a different life, she wouldn't want him to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone! Thank you for being patient with this later-in-the-evening update tonight. I hope the longer length (and hopefully the content) is enough to ensure you aren't too upset with me. So much happened in this chapter, I want to know: What was your favourite part?
> 
> Did you catch Protective Draco? And what do you think about the dress colour I went with? Thanks to everyone who sent in their suggestions!
> 
> Everyone should send happy thoughts to my Beta, Rachelletwin2, because she was so incredibly helpful, encouraging, and reliable as I developed this chapter. She has all of my thanks for everything she does!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) I'm starting a few spin-off one-shots for the characters in this story! Check in Wednesday or Thursday for the first one! You won't want to miss it!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	15. Sorry

Chapter Fifteen: Sorry

Hermione and Ginny were lounging in the common room for the first time in what felt like forever. They sat in comfy chairs, hot chocolates courtesy of Dobby in hand, chatting as they had earlier, all while looking out of the stained glass window over the grounds. The girls decided to change their girls' shopping afternoon into an evening of relaxation and continue their much-needed girl talk.

The fiery and fierce Ginny convinced Hermione to play the bad guy when Dean approached them shortly after returning with their shopping bags. Hermione told Dean that she desperately needed more girl time and promised he could have his girlfriend back in the morning. He wasn't very happy about it, but he left them alone in the end.

Ginny finally had her break.

After working on the cabinet so diligently all week, Draco thought it would be fine to take an evening off. Hermione didn't think anything of it, especially considering Ginny's early profession of couples usually wanting time apart here and there. She figured Draco probably just needed a break, too, and that was okay.

Ginny was Hermione's window into all of the castle's juiciest drama. She always was the first to know when a couple broke up or when a classmate did something to embarrass themselves. It made for entertaining, if not purposeful, conversation.

Hermione let herself get so caught up in Ginny's story about the potential relationship budding between Neville and Luna, that she didn't hear clumsy footsteps approaching.

"Hermione," came Ron's voice softly. When both girls looked up at him, he shifted uncomfortably but maintained eye contact with Hermione. "May I have a word with you, privately?"

Hermione could see the determination in his eyes to maintain contact, though his hands were fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. As Ron shifted his weight onto a different foot, Hermione noticed Harry standing across the room watching them, and he nodded, encouraging Hermione to say yes.

When her eyes trailed back to Ron, he was looking down at their feet. She could practically feel his nerves. "Sure, Ronald," she agreed more for Harry than for the redhead.

"How about a walk?"

"Let me get a cloak," Hermione said as she handed her warm cup of chocolate to Ginny.

For some reason, she was drawn to bring the cloak that she'd accidentally taken from Draco so many weeks ago. She told herself she chose it because it was significantly nicer and much warmer than her own, but if she were honest, she chose it because the smell was comforting.

It smelt like his hugs.

When she came down from her dorm barely a minute later, Harry occupied the chair opposite Ginny, and Ron was looking even more nervous than before. Again, Harry's eyes pleaded with her, so she followed Ron out the portrait hole.

They walked in silence for a few moments, neither one of them knew who was leading or where they were going or how to break the uncomfortable tension that was so new to them.

They turned as they came to the end of the Gryffindor corridor and continued to walk down the next hall. Portraits seemed to find the silent pair interesting. They had escaped the watching eyes of The Fat Lady, but this wasn't much better. At least, these portraits were not as likely to spread gossip around.

To her surprise, he reached for her arm, gently stopping her and turning her to face him. The action was gentle and kind, but she still felt uneasy.

She was physically closer to him than she had been since this whole thing began. With his tall frame so near, Hermione was breathing in his musky scent. It didn't set her heart racing like it once had, the way the smells of pine and rain now did, and this truth made her sad.

Something had changed without her notice, and she hadn't been able to properly grieve it's passing.

"Hermione," Ron sighed. He released her arm. He didn't fail to notice how quickly she stepped away from him. Still, this was one of the few times he'd been close to her in the past few weeks, so he took the time to study her.

Her curls were tied up in a twist, but ever the same. Her expression was unsmiling with a trace of fear that left that spark in her eyes glowing, ready to set the world ablaze. The faintest darkness pillowed her eyes as if she'd gotten almost enough sleep.

It reminded him of better times. Of nights spent studying late in the common room. Of later nights talking with Harry, hiding from Mrs. Weasley, in the dim light of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place. Of late nights that turned into early mornings on the common room couch by the fire, her laughter filling the room at every one of his jokes, aided by exhaustion but no less gratifying. It reminded him of so many things he missed.

Strange how just one glance could make him feel so much.

He sighed again but couldn't find the words to start, yet he couldn't look away from her.

He looked at her with what ifs and could haves and a heart full of regret, though she didn't recognize the telling gleam in his eyes. He looked at her like he maybe should have kissed her a hell of a long time ago, like they should have laughed over tea in that goddamned tea shop, like they could have been _in love_ or _made love_ but chose to stay friends instead.

But she looked at him with something so unfamiliar, something so empty of love, and he was brutally reminded that they'd barely talked in weeks.

He wondered where his best friend had gone, the fiercely loyal girl who could make him laugh more than any other witch. This girl felt foreign, cold, and unknowable. That mesmerizing fire was still there, but there was no love or laughter in her eyes.

Ron knew he was to blame.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed.

"Oh, you're sorry are you? For what may I ask?" Her arms were crossed over her chest so tightly that it seemed impossible they would ever unravel. He hadn't expected those two words to spark the stubborn, angry witch that had taken over Hermione's body in the last few months whenever he'd come around.

Ron had been thinking about this moment all day. He knew Harry had been right, he knew that he had to try to fix things, but that didn't mean he knew how to go about it.

What should he say? How will she react? What exactly would he have to do to mend everything he had broken?

Apologies were messy, and girls were complicated, but when you put the two together, the task felt impossible.

"For everything, I suppose," he shrugged fixing his eyes on his shoes. This was harder than he'd imagined.

Her sigh carried far down the corridor, she began to stomp off as if she were following it. It took Ron a moment before his feet decided to follow, too.

"That's just not good enough. It takes more than two words to apologize," she stormed away, not bothering to look at him.

Still, he followed, shouting after her. "And I know that, Hermione! I really do. And I really am sorry. I just - this isn't easy for me, you know."

She looked over her shoulder at him, the fire in her eyes seemingly wanting to scorch him next, before she fixed her eyes angrily on the floor a ways in front of her. She kept storming down the corridor.

Ron didn't care if he was talking to her back. He probably deserved it. Not probably- definitely. He definitely deserved her anger, every drop of it. So Ron continued following, half-shouting his rambling, apologetic thoughts with the hope that she'd hear them. With the hope that she was listening.

"I haven't had much practice with apologies, Hermione, but I'm trying. How do you apologize when you've done _everything_ wrong? How do you apologize when you've said hurtful things that you can't take back? How do you apologize for _months_ of inadequacy? Where do I start?"

At that, she finally turned around, glaring at him with eyes shining with the faintest glint of unshed tears. "You hurt me, Ronald." She shot, waving her finger in the direction of his chest. "Do you know how much I've cried? How hard it is for your worst fears to be shouted at you? How terrible that made me feel?"

Ron stopped walking again, running his hands over his face. "I know, Hermione. I know I've absolutely messed up. And the thing is, I know I'm a terrible person. I know I don't deserve you. I know I don't appreciate you enough." He looked up at her, willing his eyes to stay locked on hers, but the anger in her eyes had been replaced by a sudden sadness. "And I'm trying to do better and I know it's not good enough. And I'm sorry."

The silence that fell between them was chilling. Hermione was processing his words, the apology weighed her down and made her insides cold. She wished she could take a sip of the hot chocolate she'd left behind, but her hands were empty.

Very empty.

She pulled Draco's cloak around her tighter. Her eyes still stuck on Ron's blues. The color that used to comfort her the most was now piercing, sending so much feeling into her heart.

But the silence hung.

So much was said in the unsaid.

With a sigh to break their connected gaze, Ron slowly moved himself to a nearby bench where he spoke again, "can I at least ask what it will take to earn your forgiveness?"

"Time, Ronald." She brushed some curls out of her eyes. "I appreciate your apology, but I can't forget about everything overnight. I'm not sure, I need time."

The darkness of the halls set in, reminding Hermione of the many walks she'd taken with Draco. It felt empty, not having his hand in hers. It felt wrong to be wandering the halls with someone who wasn't him. She took a deep breath, tucking her nose into the shoulder of her cloak. It only took seconds for his scent to replace the air in the room. She filled her lungs with his smell and let pine sharpen her mind and rain wash through her bloodstream.

"I guess we should walk back then," nodded Ron in defeat, rising to walk back to Gryffindor tower. His steps were laborious and slow. Hermione started to walk too, falling into a slow step beside him.

Her hands fidgeted with the cloak's ties by her neck, anxious in the silence.

It was weird, how someone she once considered her best friend now made her feel uncomfortable, how things could get so messed up.

Meanwhile, someone she once considered her worst enemy now made her feel completely at peace, confident, and understood in such a perfect way.

As she walked beside Ron, she thought about what had brought them to this point.

At what point did they move from the comfort of friendship and laughter and a maybe-almost-romance to awkward avoidance, where the silence is filled only with the sound of fingers pulling at clothes for a tangible way to deal with the suffocating discomfort?

The answer to this question was easy, and clear, but that didn't make her feel any better. It was Lavender. It was that Quidditch match. It was their fight.

These answers only flooded her mind with more questions and more thoughts.

She didn't realize they had walked so far. Maybe it was the stressful pace they'd carried as they left the tower. The air was heavier now between them. Each step felt heavy and exhausting as she pushed through it, half a step behind him.

Hermione needed to say something to ease the tension and to bring back some sort of normalcy. She pulled from her Gryffindor bravery and decided to ask one of the questions she had wondered since the beginning. Still, it came out as a stammer and she kicked herself for allowing her nerves to come through. "Can I– can I ask you one thing?"

He looked up at her pensively, his feet slowing ever so slightly. "Of course."

"Why Lavender?" Asked Hermione, surprised by the hurt that leaked into her voice. Surprised by her emotional need to know, even after all this time.

He looked down and shrugged, "Why Malfoy?"

It was a fair question. Why not a Gryffindor? Why not Seamus, who admitted to wanting her in his bed a drunken time or two? Why not Harry, the person Hermione knew could make Ron the most jealous? Why did she have to pick Draco?

Why did she have to pick the Slytherin prat? Why did she have to pick the bully who had said hurtful things to them for years? Why did she have to pick the pale blonde boy who had an ego larger than his vault at Gringotts? Why did it have to be _him_?

She reminded herself it was nothing more than Draco being in the right place at the right time that evening in the kitchens back in September. But she couldn't explain that to Ron. Especially if she knew in her heart it no longer held true.

"At first, it was his manners," she finally started to answer. "How he needed to make sure I got back to the portrait safely, how he helped me up from my seat… but then it became other things. He'd bring me books he thought I would enjoy, and then he'd carry my bag, and he always knew when to keep quiet so I could study."

Her smile made Ron's heart soften sadly. She smiled, at the memories, he supposed. And while he loved her smile more than most, he couldn't say that it didn't feel like a kick in the balls when she smiled for Malfoy instead of him.

"He's actually very intelligent and he is extremely attractive," she blushed, sharing more. "Mostly now, it's how he challenges me, makes me question everything. It's his mysterious smirks and unexpected compliments. He can be intimidating at times, but he can also make me laugh like no one else can." _Not to mention the way he makes my toes curl when he kisses me._

She wouldn't let herself finish that sentence, but she couldn't prevent the blush that flooded her cheeks at the thought.

"It seems like you really like him. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about him," Ron commented sadly. "It's the same way he looks at you when you aren't looking."

The idea that Draco looked at her in any special way made her insides flutter, if only for a moment. Draco's acting skills must have been improving.

Hermione brushed another hair out of her face before she queried, "How about Lavender?"

"Lavender's easy. In every sense of the word," Ron mumbled. Hermione noticed that he didn't seem all too excited or proud of that statement. "There isn't any other way to explain her."

Another silence fell between the former best friends just as they reached The Fat Lady's portrait. They each wavered, unsure how one was supposed to say goodbye at a time like this. Two best friends no longer speaking, a tried apology that went denied. Hermione didn't think there were any such rules to be read in books about manners and etiquette. They stared at each other awkwardly for some time.

Ultimately, Ron spoke with his deep voice heavy with sincerity and sorrow.

"She's not you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Friday! I know this chapter was shorter than recent ones, but really, I just had to let it end on this line. You probably hate me. You probably want to know where this is going, but you'll just have to keep reading, won't you? *I'm currently doing my best evil laugh as I type* Shoutout this week goes to Darthtatero8, Venzafam123, and GabrieleKazlauskatie got their kind and generous reviews!! My heart is so happy whenever the review notification pops up! Thank you!
> 
> Questions for this week: Do you have a favourite line from this chapter? Or is there a line or scene from another chapter that you just loved? Are there any other side pairings in this fic that you'd like to see a one-shot for? Tell me!
> 
> Thanks, as always to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic. Everyone should send happy thoughts to them!
> 
> If you find yourself craving more of the BTR world after this short-ish chapter, check out my one-shot, This is Not the End! Same author, same world, same story, same Hogsmeade date, just different characters (that I hope you'll love as much as I do). Spin-off one-shots will become a thing so go check out the first one!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Again, please go check out This is Not the End, I think you'll like it :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	16. Incendio

Chapter Sixteen: Incendio 

 

The next evening, Hermione joined Draco in the Room of Hidden Things once again, but this time she felt more nervous. So much had happened in the last few days and she wasn’t sure what to do about her new revelations.

For starters, she’d come to the conclusion that she fancied Draco. No doubt about it.

In the process of trying to fix things between them, Ron had unintentionally helped her recognize that her thoughts about Draco were driven by something more than a physical attraction. He would hate that if he ever found out.  And ironic, wasn’t it? That Ron’s simple question, ‘why Malfoy?’ had been the solidifying factor in understanding these feelings?

Her answer to Ron’s question had come so easily to her. Just remembering the question now, the long list of reasons why she liked Draco streamed through her mind and her cheeks tinged pink once again.

She found Draco astonishingly handsome and even sexy. He was kind, funny, and the smugness she once hated was now one of her favorite things about him. His famous smirk was no longer rude but was flirty and adorable. He comforted her and teased her all in one and he could hold an intelligent conversation with her for hours. And the way he looked at her, Merlin, the way he looked at her, all serious and attentive, was more flattering than any compliment she’d ever been given.

Now that she owned her very real feelings for Draco, she wasn’t sure how to act around him. Should she tell him? Should she call off their agreement? Should she continue to pretend it was all fake?

She figured the last idea was the best bet. Surely, there was no point in telling him, and calling it all off would be more detrimental than helpful.

He would only wonder _why_.

And there was also the matter of the cabinet, which seemed no closer to being fixed than when they had started. A month of studying and a few weeks of trying different spells, yet still nothing was happening.

What did these new feelings have to do with their contract? Nothing in the grand scheme of things.

She was also heavily conflicted over her thoughts about Ron. Nothing about him made her heart jump. Not his smell, or his eyes, or his touch. She wasn’t sure if it was scary, or good, or _wrong_ to no longer have those feelings for him- the ones that got her into this whole situation in the first place.

She’d spent _years_ loving Ron, _years_ wishing he’d just notice her existence in a more-than-a-friend way. But now it seemed he had, and she no longer cared.

Ron’s voice had repeated in her head over and over and over again that night, whispering, _“She’s not you. She’s not you. She’s not you.”_

She could read between the lines of his narrative. He didn’t care for Lavender, at least not as much as a boyfriend should. She’d been an easy means to get a rise out of Hermione when he was angry with her. She’d been an even easier lay. But when he let himself face the facts of his feelings, they held nothing for the blonde witch he called his girlfriend.

No, he liked Hermione.

This new truth should have sent her soaring, flying through the heavens with happiness, but Hermione, instead, felt sick. In a different world, that moment in front of The Fat Lady would have been the greatest moment of her teenage life, but that world was gone. In this world, Hermione’s heart traded the Gryffindor Knight for the Slytherin Prince, and this reality was more difficult to navigate than she ever could have imagined.

These thoughts plagued Hermione’s mind as she paced thrice in front of the Room of Requirement before stepping through the large oak doors that appeared.

Hermione passed the mountain of rotting chairs and the tower of books that still made her heart tear a little bit every time she looked at it. She came to a small collection of statues that transported her back to a different time – to Devil’s Snare and Wizard’s Chess – but she continued to move forward, away from the stone bishop, until she was deeper inside the maze.

She spotted Draco as she turned the last corner and smiled at her view. He was wearing dark gray trousers and a black oxford shirt. His tie, she noticed, had been discarded in a pile on the floor where his matching coat lay crumpled. He was kneeling half inside the cabinet, his head tilted upwards as he studied the inside of the cabinet. She had a fantastic view of his arse and struggled to prevent the flow of blood that wanted to rush to her cheeks at the sight. His wand was raised with a Lumos, but he was focused on something and hadn’t noticed she was there.

“What on earth are you doing down there?” Hermione laughed.

His head turned in her direction so quickly, he hadn’t had time to move out of the cabinet and his forehead collided roughly with the wooden frame. She could hear a loud thump followed by a few whispered curses as he righted himself.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Draco half-shouted, rubbing his bruising forehead. “Walk a little louder next time.”

He rose to his feet and took a few steps toward her, noting the confused look in her eyes and the way her lips were pressed into a thin line. Annoyed, probably, by his tone of voice.

“Sorry for yelling,” Draco voiced, stepping toward her. “I was startled, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Her expression softened and he smirked to himself, pleased that he had been able to understand her perfectly.

“What were you looking at?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

Draco watched as she took off her outer layer, placing the thick sweater beside his coat in an equally rumpled pile.

“No. Actually, I’m not sure.” He took hold of her arm, much like Ron had the night before, leading her to the cabinet where he’d been kneeling only a few moments ago. This felt natural. His touch caused tingles on her skin.

“I tried that diagnostic spell you always do, the one that shines that bright blue, but I think something is off.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was almost white when I did it. It wasn’t that bright blue that it always has been, but a faint sort of periwinkle. I’m not sure how it could be fixing itself, but I was inspecting it to see if any part of the structure was different,” Draco explained.

“Vanishing cabinets don’t just fix themselves,” she responded teasingly. Draco’s eyes rolled in response, lacking their usual malice.

Hermione pushed his shoulder, playfully reprimanding him for using those enchanting, silver eyes for such disrespect. She was smiling, though, revealing that she wasn’t nearly as offended as she pretended to be.

She leaned into the cabinet, ultimately leaning closer to Draco- but she wouldn’t let herself think about such unimportant things right then.

The cabinet appeared unchanged, the wood still humming that slight, rhythmic sound that magic always bled.

“I don’t see anything that could be different,” she mused, her eyes wandering slowly from the wooden walls of the cabinet, to the silver of Draco’s eyes, which were close and captivating.

She almost let them distract her.

“Doubt my ability to cast the spell, do you, Granger?” He teased.

_There’s that perfect smirk I was thinking about earlier._

Her breath almost hitched at his flirty demeanor and her own thoughts. She wanted to move away from him, not wanting to reveal the effect he was having on her, but at the same time, her body desperately wanted to stay exactly where it was, crouched close to Draco, shoulders touching, breaths mixing, half-inside of the vanishing cabinet.

The look on his face was equally contemplative as he stepped away, but Hermione wasn’t sure why. She shivered at the loss of heat, slowly straightening herself as she tried to shake those thoughts from her mind and focus on the task.

Draco was willing his thoughts to settle down, too as he moved a few paces away from her.

From that crouched position beside her, he could see every freckle that spread across her nose and cheeks and the subtle way her skin brightened at their closeness. It reminded him of the way she threw her head back laughing on the bench, color filling her cheeks, and the map of her freckles he could probably make without looking, having memorized them from all the times she’s kissed him.

And he thought- no- _knew_ that if he was that close to her for much longer, he’d have to kiss her.

“Here, I’ll cast it again,” she offered.

Suddenly, the room was filled with a glowing, azure, periwinkle light.

“That was definitely not the bright blue that we’ve been seeing the past few weeks,” remarked Draco in his cool voice.

She shook her head, gaze never leaving the cabinet. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” he asked as he looked at her. Her face was serious. “Isn’t this a good thing?”

“We haven’t _done_ anything, that’s what I don’t understand. How can we be closer to fixing the cabinet if we haven’t done anything to it? What progress have we made?”

She was pacing again. She always paced when she needed to do her best thinking. She once told him that walking helps you think because it makes your blood pump a bit faster, helping oxygen get to the brain at a higher rate.

Draco wasn’t sure he agreed with that. After all, she set his heart racing whenever he was near her and that only seemed to render his mind completely useless.

Still, he started pacing, too, unsure what would have caused the cabinet to glow whiter.

“There has to be something- some reason why its lighter,” Hermione said, thinking out loud, after a moment. She turned to face him.

“Well, what has changed since last time?”

She shook her head. “Just those spell ideas we wrote down.”

“Do you think the cabinet can tell we’ve thought up other spells?” he asked, though he already had the answer in mind.

The cabinet was magical, but it was not _that_ magical.

Hermione, obviously on the same thought, laughed at the question. “Definitely not,” she agreed. “I’m really starting to doubt that idea of mine. You might have been right on that one.”

Draco smirked. 

Hermione had to look away again, but her willpower did not last long when she heard his voice.

“Then it must be something out of our power,” suggested Draco, stepping a little closer to her.

“How long has it been since we started working on the cabinet with magic?” she asked.

“About fifteen days,” he recounted.

Hermione shook her head. “It can’t be weekly, then. We were here last week, too.”

“What if it is a cycle? Like something that follows the weather… or the seasons? Have we officially started winter yet? I can never keep track. It’s not like the season matters. The moon? It’s been colder lately-”

“Draco!” A wide, beautiful grin took over her features, her eyes shone that fiery light that he loved so much, especially when in conjunction with her speaking his name. He smiled back. “That’s brilliant!”

She threw her arms around his neck, almost knocking him off balance. Just as he started to wrap his arms around her too, unsure why she was hugging him, but pleased nonetheless, she started to move away.

Hermione picked up her sweater and threw Draco’s coat to him, then his tie, before speeding toward the door. Draco paused for only a moment before following. She was already halfway down the corridor when he exited the room.

“Hermione, where are we going?” he shouted after her, putting his coat on.

“Where do you think?”

_I have no bloody idea, Hermione, you’re the brilliant one._

He jogged to catch up with her as she started ascending the next staircase.

“The Astronomy Tower,” he whimpered softly, Hermione didn’t hear him.

Setting foot on that platform was one of the last things he wanted to do. Snape had the idea that it would be an easy place to bring the Death Eaters when he let them into the castle; a good place to kill Dumbledore.

He didn’t want to think about that. Not now. He didn’t want to go up there. Certainly not with Hermione.

She stopped her quick steps once she’d noticed he stopped following. “Why aren’t you coming?” she called, looking at him from her position higher up.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “Don’t you have notes or a calendar we could reference, Hermione? I really don’t feel like exercising this evening when it can be avoided,” he lied lamely.

She stared at him for a moment, “Don’t be silly, it’s not that far. Come on.”

She started up the stairs again. He took another deep breath. He could do this. He’d have to follow. He’d have to stay calm.

When he reached the top, Hermione was already standing at the metal rail that served as a barrier to keep one from falling.

 _If only I had one of those around my heart to keep her from creeping in,_ he thought.

She was beautiful in the starlight, a radiant vision. He almost forgot his panic.

“You can see it up there,” she said pointing toward the sky at the barely-there moon, “but I can’t remember if that’s waxing or waning.”

He was beside her again, close enough to touch.

He glanced up at the vast skies, following her finger. “That’s waning. Just starting, actually.”

“That must be it, Draco, don’t you think?” She smiled brightly. “It must have a window of fixability during the waning phase of the lunar cycle,” she sang, turning even closer to face him.

She always wore this excited, proud look whenever she solved something new. But somehow, tonight, it seemed like there was something more in the way her eyes gleamed.

It humbled Draco to realize that it was for him.

Her smile was still bright as she turned back to face the sky. But despite the wondrous view of the stars on this clear night, he could not take his eyes off of her.

“Of course you'd have the lunar cycle memorized,” she voiced through a laugh. “You're a walking constellation."

She truly seemed captivated by the sky. A trickle of silvery moonlight ran down her cheek and he couldn’t look away, captivated by her. "It's just a name,” he insisted.

“I don’t believe that for a second.” She sighed, still peering out over the castle grounds, into the sky. “You’re just like them,” she persisted.

“Like what?”

“Like stars.”

Wondering what might have possibly driven her to make that statement, Draco followed her gaze, finding his namesake easily, and studying the sky, searching for clues that would help him understand.

They stood there in a comfortable silence, stars reflecting in their eyes, illuminating their skin, and punctuating each breath they both took.

Still, Draco saw only stars.

“You’re just like them,” Hermione repeated, turning to look at him. Time _(or was it his heart?)_ seemed to stop. She looked at him as if he were something special. The feeling of being special so foreign, that it almost hurt to be looked at like that.

“You’re exactly like them, Draco. You’re just too close to see it.” As her weight shifted, her wayward curls fluttered in his direction where they brushed the skin of his shoulder. Even through his shirt, the simple touch set his skin on fire.

Her amber eyes were still on him, curious, and studying. “You keep yourself hidden from everyone else, like stars in the bright light of day,” she said. “But I get to see something completely different.

“You pretend to be indifferent around everyone else, but then you cheered me up on the bench. You’ve seen me at my lowest, crying over a stupid boy, yet you came back the next night, and the one after that. I know you’ll deny it, but I recognized that blanket for what it was, a promise to protect me while I sleep.

“You show me over and over again, Draco, this star-like version of you. And you’re much brighter than you pretend to be.”

The emotions that flooded Draco’s heart and mind were so foreign to him, and he wished more than anything that he had the power to read her mind and know exactly what was swirling in that brilliant, complex brain of hers.

He knew she was waiting for him to say something– anything– to acknowledge her proclamation. Words streamed through his mind, but he couldn’t really say what he was thinking, could he?

How pathetic would it look if he asked her blatantly, _“do you say things like that because we’re friends, or because you’re my fake girlfriend, or because this is starting to feel real for you, too?”_

 _No,_ he thought. Hermione was just an incredibly kind person. He doubted that the words she said meant what he hoped.

He watched the stars speckled across the sky and he wished that his heart would stop thumping so loud so he could properly sift through his messy thoughts.

He wished he could be honest, and tell her exactly how light he feels when she’s with him, when she kisses him, when she says these unbelievable things. He wished he could tell her he was thankful he had someone who understood, someone who saw the moments he forgot his Malfoy mask and didn’t judge him for it.

He wanted to tell her that there was a good reason his softness was only for her, and how everything felt real.

But words streamed by, and nothing sounded right, and none of them were _enough_. After all, this was Hermione Granger. Kind, brave, strong, and beautiful… She deserved so much.

He was certain no response could adequately explain what he wished to convey.

“I'm nothing special," he settled on, feeling his shoulder brush hers as he released the breath he had been holding.

She shook her head, always stubborn. "Is that why your eyes shine like them, too?”

Draco suddenly found that he could no longer pretend the sky was more interesting than the witch beside him, and when he turned his head, she was looking at him, studying his face like he was the most intriguing sight she’d ever seen.

That fire in her eyes, in her everything, – the one that drew him nearer as the weeks passed, the one that kept him warm as the cold that was death waited for him around each corner, the one that could set the whole wizarding world ablaze – consumed him.

Before he could extinguish his desire, his arms were around her, his lips consuming hers.

He kissed her.

Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn’t have done anything else.

Incendio.

And before he even realized what he was doing, before he could think about his doubts and their fake relationship, her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him back.

The softness of her lips pressing against his sent him soaring higher than a broom could ever take him. He smiled into it and her lips matched his before her arms tightened, pulling him closer. He tilted her head back and he kissed her with a swift progression of intensity that made her cling to him as if he were the only solid thing in a dizzy, swaying world. His needing mouth was parting her shaking lips and the way her tongue perfectly tangled with his ignited sensations he had never known he was capable of feeling, dancing like Fiendfyre throughout his body.

He kissed her like her lips were air and he couldn’t breathe. He kissed her like her breath held all the secrets of how to be a good person, and he desperately wanted to be a good person. He kissed her like it was his last dying day and he knew, if the Dark Lord was standing right there ready to cast the killing curse for his failures, his inadequacies, and his love, he knew he could die happy knowing that he really, truly, passionately, kissed Hermione Jean Granger and she kissed him back.

 _I could get used to this,_ he thinks. (He kind of already has).

Hermione Granger had sparked something deep within him. She warmed his body, his mind, his soul, awakening something inside him that he’d forced aside for far too long. She fought her way into his head and spread like wildfire, leaving little but scorched earth in its wake and the tiny, hopeful promise of new growth.

He kissed her like he loved her, because he knew that he did.

Draco pinched himself, hard, needing desperately to know that this wasn’t all some cruel dream, a desire-driven hallucination.

But the sting from his fingers came, and burned, and his heart raced faster.

He was kissing Hermione Granger.

She was kissing him back.

And it was real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: How's that for your "happy Friday"? *wink* OH MY GOODNESS, YES! I am so so so so sooooo happy for our favourite couple! I know we've all been waiting for this moment!
> 
> Questions: What are you feeling right now? What do you think is going to happen next? What is your favourite line from this week's chapter? (If enough people like the same line, I'll make some cool graphics to go with it)
> 
> Check out my one-shot, This is Not the End! Same author, same world, same story, same Hogsmeade date, just different characters (that I hope you'll love as much as I do). Spin-off one-shots will become a thing so go check out the first one!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	17. Break

Chapter Seventeen: Break

 

Hermione and Draco were a tangled mess of body parts and kisses, lying on the cold marble floor of the Astronomy tower. Draco covered her with his body, keeping her warm as his hands roamed over each and every one of her curves and every inch of her silky skin. 

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, hours maybe, or maybe only a few heavenly minutes in the cool air that breezed through Hogwarts’ tallest tower.

Her hands were sliding underneath the hem of his shirt that had, at some point, come untucked. The sensations that came from her warm, gentle hands against his chest were too much and reality crashed upon his shoulders like a tidal wave.

_ Draco, you can’t do this to her. You can’t leave her in the dark forever. When are you going to tell her the truth about your task? _

With monumental self-control, Draco broke their kiss, lifting himself to a sitting position beside her where he watched her chest rise and fall with her breath. Her mouth, where his lips should be, took the form of a soft smile in his absence, but her eyes remained closed, contented.

For that, he was grateful, for he knew he wouldn’t be able to tell her what he needed to tell her with her fire-lit eyes staring back at him. 

She was still that radiant beautiful girl, and her hand reached out to brush his knee so gently, it almost melted his resolve. But the way she rubbed slow circles along his leg, reaching out for more contact, only made him love her more. 

He knew that if he loved her, he had to tell her. 

As much as it killed him to hurt her this way, he knew he didn’t deserve her affection.

His body ached to stay on the cold floor beside her, but instead, he stood and took a few unsteady steps toward the railing, unable to look back at the witch he was leaving behind. Each step was harder from the last, and when he felt her sit up, searching for him, his feet halted, feeling her eyes on him. 

Less than two months - that’s how long it took for him to learn this exquisite witch. Two months, and now he could practically feel her thoughts swarming in her mind like stressed bees. 

She was probably wondering what this would mean for their fake relationship or wondering if her speech about stars really made him kiss her. She was probably wondering why he moved away, if he was trying to keep things from moving too fast, too quickly, or if he was regretting the way they had just snogged as if nothing else in the world mattered.

He glanced at her, but only for a moment before he started walking again, the need to confess becoming stronger. Despite how badly he wanted to return to her side and smother her with more kisses, he moved to stand against the railing, as far away from her as he could get. 

For a few moments he said nothing, merely looked out over the school grounds. The look on his face was tortured, pained, and probably showed the tiniest hint of hope, he knew. He had become skilled at masking his emotions, hiding behind a solid wall of indifference, but that didn’t feel important right now. And he wondered, if it was the fact that he had come to trust her so completely, or if he was so distraught that the mask was impossible.  

“Draco?” Hermione’s voice faltered behind him. The air between them was growing cold and thin as if there wasn’t enough air for them both. 

“Um-” she started nervously. “Are you okay?”

He couldn’t look at her, he really couldn’t. He couldn’t handle seeing the hurt in her eyes when he told her, so he continued to look over the grounds, the frozen lake barely glistening in the dim light from the dull stars and the sliver of light from the waning moon. 

“I need to tell you something.” A knot found its way into his throat and breathing was, somehow, becoming harder. 

She rose to her feet and joined him by the overlook. “I’m listening,” she promised patiently, trying to search his eyes for any hint of what was weighing on his mind. She reached out to touch his hand, but he jerked it away at the slightest contact. 

He wouldn’t look at her. 

“I ’m a Death Eater. I’m working for Him.”  _ Like a band-aid,  _ he thought.  _ Like a Gryffindor. _

But the girl who always seemed to have something to say suddenly  _ didn’t _ . She stood there frozen, as those eight words haunted her. Her silence haunted him.

“I’ve got the Mark, Hermione.” The emotion poured from his shaky voice. His eyes were empty, mere ghosts of the silvery havens she’d grown to find comfort in. She stared at him but he couldn’t look at her. His head hung to his chest, fringe hiding his eyes from her. His knuckles were growing white from his strong grip on the Astronomy Tower railing. 

As her mind became clearer, she processed his words, understanding, but not wanting to. She found her voice, but it was shaky and disconnected, so unlike the passionate and brilliantly brave witch he knew she was. 

“I- No, Draco, you’re only sixteen. And- I don’t-

She desperately wanted, no needed, for this to be a lie. Tears were falling silently and slowly down her cheeks. This couldn’t be real. 

But the vulnerability he showed, the brokenness of his voice and the surrendering of his prideful, aristocratic stature were too much to deny. 

He glanced at her as if hearing her thoughts. Slowly, he began to unfasten the cuffs on the left sleeve of his crisp black dress shirt. 

Draco’s gaze was locked on the witch before him, the girl he loved, the girl who he knew was breaking because of him. The girl who would never glance his way again. Hermione’s gaze was locked on Draco’s arm, the tears falling faster than before. 

Just as he said, the Dark Mark was there on his arm. The black ink stood out dramatically against his pale skin. It looked red and irritated, some of it swollen. But it was there. 

Draco Malfoy was, indeed, Marked. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked, meeting his eye for the first time. 

His eyes were glossy, too, tears threatening to spill over. “I couldn’t keep lying to you, Hermione, not when I was falling in love with you more and more with every glance and every word you send my way. I’m in love with you, Hermione Granger, and I couldn’t keep hurting you.” 

He couldn’t hold his tears at bay any longer when her hand collided with his pale cheek, turning it Gryffindor red. The slap was as loud as a clap and it stung his face.

He was looking at her. Her nose was pink, and the skin around her eyes was red and blotchy. He noticed her eyes had more golden flecks when she cries, almost like the sun shining through scattered trees in autumn. 

But she didn’t look angry. She only looked hurt. 

Betrayed, broken, but beautiful. 

He hated the feelings that washed through him at the way she looked at him. 

“I deserved that,” Draco groaned. “I deserved that a million times over. I’m sorry Hermione, I deserve more.” Those ugly wet streaks covered most of her beautiful face and he hated himself in that instant. 

“Hit me again, I deserve it. I deserve it all.”

She didn’t need telling twice. Her other hand collided with the other side of his face, leaving behind another red welt from the force. She let out an anguished breath through her tears, which were now flowing freely and loudly down her cheeks. 

“Again, Hermione,” he begged. “I deserve so much more.” 

He continued crying, encouraging her, pleading her to hit him more and she obliged. She punched his chest and his stomach a dozen times, but her sadness had taken its toll on her force and she wasn’t physically hurting him nearly enough. 

She crumbled into his arms, sobbing, barely breathing, and broken. He hugged her intensely, he held her tight as though she were his whole life and it was being taken from him. 

Because, well, she was. 

“I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry,” Draco whispered as her lifeless hits slowed to a stop.

Then, with unexpected force, she pushed him away from her and he stumbled, reaching for the railing for support. 

“How dare you!” She bellowed wildly, the anger she should have felt all along radiating through her body from her fire-lit eyes to the tips of her fingers. “How dare you tell me you’re marked in one sentence and you love me in the next!” She took a step forward, punctuating each sentence with another swat at his chest.  

“You? Love me?” she cried, “That’s impossible,” she hit him again, her force returning. “I’m Muggleborn, Malfoy, a filthy, dirty, scum of a witch with mud for blood, or had you forgotten?” She hit him again with more force, but he was numb to it. He deserved every hit, but her words wounded more than her punches did. 

He couldn’t help but notice she called him by his surname. 

Draco finally found his voice, “I do love you, Hermione! Don’t speak that way about yourself. That’s not-”

“What’s wrong with my words? Surely you and all of your other Death Eater friends have even more foul mouths when you talk about me and my kind, or are you not a Death Eater? Is that a temporary tattoo and this is all one big joke?” She was growling with every word.

“I am a Death Eater, Hermione but I-”

“Which is it then?” she shouted, taking several steps away from him. “Do you love me or do you wish I were dead? That’s what this means, you realize.”

He stayed silent; he stayed put.

Her eyes grew big and her mouth, the mouth that his had so recently been kissing, fell agape. “The Vanishing Cabinet! You’re a Death Eater. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” He had the decency to cast his gaze down and away. Never in his life had he felt so small. 

“Was it even about your mum at all?” she asked, betrayed. 

He steeled his features as best as he could but the tears wouldn’t stop falling down his pale skin. The mask he’d always worn, the one that all Malfoy’s were expected to maintain, was covering his face. Everything but the eyes. 

He didn’t have strength for the eyes.

“Well, that’s just bloody fantastic,” she turned and began her march toward the stairs. 

He croaked, “Hermione, please.”

She was very near hating him now, yet the sound of his voice weighed on her heart and made her  _ need _ to look at him. The way the moonlight fell on his thin, light hair, the way he held his breath, and stood, and wore his rumpled clothes… 

She was sure that even these trivial things were woven into her deepest life. And no matter the severity of the situation, Hermione couldn’t prevent the rapid stream of hopes that flooded her mind- things she hoped he would say.  

_ Please stay. Please forgive me. Please help me find a way out.  _

_ Please know this hasn’t all been a lie.  _

But hope is a dangerous thing and she knows it has no business being blown around in the chilling air of the Astronomy Tower. So she steeled her voice the best she could, refusing to reveal the embarrassing stitch of hope she held onto despite who he was and what he’d done. 

“Please what?” she spat weakly.

That fire was back in her eyes, he noticed, but not in a way that made him feel anything good. He could still see the traces of saltwater that streamed down her face. He could practically feel her racing heart as her breathing hitched in her chest. She almost looked scared, and the reality of what he’d done sunk even deeper into the hole where a normal person’s heart should be. 

He was sure that, after this, he probably wouldn’t have one, if he ever did to begin with.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded, voice breaking. 

Any last stitch of oxygen left in her lungs painfully and in quick succession, leaving behind the harsh sting of suffocation. She whipped her wand toward him in a flourish, angry magic tingling through her fingertips. “Pinoculus!”

He felt the curse’s magic changing his nose rapidly. It was growing, extending to the length of his hand before it stopped. He examined the cursed feature with his hands and eyes as best as he could.

When he looked back up at where she’d stood at the top of the stairs, she was gone. 

* * *

 

Dobby was doing his nightly rounds on the fourth floor when he heard crying. 

The little elf felt sad knowing that this was almost a regular occurrence. At Hogwarts, students couldn’t find much privacy in their dormitories, so elves took it upon themselves to help them when they needed to be alone. 

It had become an unspoken protocol that all of the elves followed: 

  1. Check to make sure crying student is not in physical danger. 
  2. Invite crying student to the kitchens for tea. 
  3. If they don’t respond, set up wards to keep other students away. 
  4. Alert their head of house to keep an eye on the student for the next few days.



Tonight was different though because Dobby knew this student. Miss. Granger was crying on the stairs and it made his heart feel like it was being squeezed. 

Miss. Granger was so nice, she shouldn’t be crying. 

“Miss. Granger? Why is you upset?” the elf politely asked, making his way onto the stair below her. 

She looked up and he saw her eyes were very red, but she didn’t respond. She buried her face in her hands and continued crying. 

She didn’t look physically hurt, maybe she needed tea.

“Would you be liking tea, Miss?”

Still, she sat and she cried. 

Protocol told him that he should set wards and find the Gryffindor Head, but this was different. He knew the student and he didn’t like seeing her cry like this. 

Dobby is a free elf, he doesn’t need to follow protocol.

“Is it Mr. Malfoy, Miss?” the elf probed, but he had gravely misstepped. The girl began bawling wildly, sending the sounds of her cries throughout the hall.  _ Oh dear, Dobby, what did you do? _

Dobby couldn’t just leave her here, no, he had to get help. 

* * *

 

Harry and Ron were in the middle of a game of Wizard’s Chess, where Harry was getting his arse handed to him, as usual. 

It was a rare night when Lavender wasn’t hanging around Ron, and Ginny and Dean had left the common room an hour ago. While Harry knew what that meant, he was relieved that he wouldn’t be forced to share the common room with the obnoxious, constantly-snogging couple. 

Harry felt, for the first time in a while, relaxed. Ron was talking smack openly, without holding his vulgar language back because Lavender was listening. Seamus was watching from the next seat over, laughing as one of Harry’s rooks was smashed to pieces and taking another sip from the Butterbeer he’d somehow gotten his hands on. 

As far as Harry figured, it was a pleasant evening, despite his pathetic chess skills. Well, until a very frantic Dobby showed up at his side, half-shouting at him.

“Mr. Harry Potter Sir! You must be coming quick!”

“Dobby, what’s wrong?” Both he and Ron turned their attention to the elf. 

“It is Miss. Granger, Sir.”

Ron shot out of his seat without hesitation. “Hermione? What happened? Where is she?” he asked.

Dobby regarded the redhead, then the concerned-looking Irishman he hadn’t met before, before turning starkly to face Harry Potter. “Miss is crying, sir. I thinks she is needing a friend.” 

Ron stormed to the portrait hole before Dobby had even finished. Harry knew that he’d been wanting to be back on Hermione’s good side for a while, but this was not the time. Harry and Dobby both knew that. 

“Ron, mate,” called Harry catching up to him with a run. “This isn’t the time. Let me go.”

Anger and concern practically radiated through Ron’s skin, turning his face a soft shade of red and making his muscles stiff. “I know this has something to do with Malfoy, the foul git. I want to help.”

“But Ron, now is not the time. You two still aren’t speaking. It doesn’t make sense for you to help right now,” Harry reasoned. 

“But I can’t just let her  _ cry _ , Harry! I- I need to do  _ something _ !” 

“I’m telling you, Ron, it will be easier if I go,” Harry insisted, his green eyes pleading. “If Hermione is crying, she’s really hurting. I wouldn’t be arguing if you two still weren’t in the middle of this weird fight but as it is, it makes more sense if I go.” 

Ron nodded sadly, stepping aside so Harry could pass through the Portrait, Dobby trailing shortly behind. 

Seamus, his mood soured knowing that Gryffindor’s best girl was crying, finished the rest of his drink before lazily cleaning up the scattered chess pieces. He knew Ron wasn’t going to come back to play. 

In fact, Ron only waited a whole 12 seconds before sprinting to his dormitory to grab Harry’s invisibility cloak. It was common knowledge that Harry’d been keeping it underneath his pillow all term. 

And 43 seconds after Harry and Dobby left, Ron exited the common room too, setting off to find them.

* * *

 

Harry tentatively sat beside his crying, broken best friend without saying a word. She rested her head in his chest as her frantic sobs continued. He pulled her close, rubbing small circles on her back. 

“Shhhhh, Hermione. I’m here. What’s wrong?” He could feel her taking deep breaths in an attempt to slow down her sobs. She softly sank into Harry’s back rubs; more deep breaths. 

Harry felt a surge of admiration for his female best friend. She was brilliant, she was passionate, she was hardworking, she was creative, but most of all, he admired how strong she was. Here she was, heartbroken and hurt more than he had ever seen, yet she was trying to pull herself together with every breath she took. 

A minute passed without her speaking, so Harry tried again. “Hermione?”

“How does it feel, Harry?” she sniffled against his shoulder. “When you see Dean with Ginny?” 

The question made him stutter, “Oh. Um..” That was not at all where Harry expected this conversation to go. 

“I know. I see the way you look at her. You’re my best friend,” she exclaimed, finally pulling her silently-crying self to a position where she was holding herself up. “How does it feel? What do you do when you know that you’re perfect for each other, but the timing is off; the circumstances keep it from happening? How do you make it go away?”

The hall was filled by the sole sound of Hermione’s labored breathing. Minutes passed. 

“It feels like this,” answered Harry honestly, an unmistakable twinge of sorrow in his voice. “It feels like this, Hermione, and there isn’t anything you can do to make it go away, so you hide it. You hide it the best you can and you hope that, someday, the circumstances change.”

She was crying harder now though, leaving dark marks from tears on the shoulder of his shirt. He meant for the words to be comforting, though he was blindsided by this conversation and wasn’t prepared. 

“What did he do?” he whispered in her ear. Ron was right, these weren’t normal tears, these were heartbreak tears. 

Her voice was muffled when she responded a few minutes later, her tears slowing down for lack of substance. ”We- we broke up.”

Harry hugged her close as she shook harder. He’d always admired Hermione for how she could handle awful things with such grace. He guessed one person could only be strong for so long. 

At some point, everybody breaks. 

“What happened?”

“He told me- he told me he loved me.” She shook violently against him with every cry. “But we can’t be together.”

“Why’s that, Hermione?” Harry asked patiently, gently, despite his conflicted emotions. 

He loved Hermione like a sister and hated to see her so crushed and upset, but he still hadn’t yet come to terms with the idea of her dating Malfoy anyway. The prat was still very much a prat and the feeling that he was up to something remained overwhelming in the Gryffindor’s stomach despite Hermione’s insistence that Malfoy was okay. He seemed to treat Hermione well, so Harry put up with seeing the two of them together. He was still unnerved by the discovery that they were sleeping together. 

Now Malfoy tells her he loves her and breaks her heart? It’s all so messy. 

Harry kicked himself for not putting up more of a fight before when Hermione first told him about her new relationship. 

“He lied.” 

Harry’s stomach flipped under the weight of more guilt. Sure, Hermione had pointed out that his intuition had been wrong exponentially more times than it was right, but maybe, with Malfoy, he’d been right all along. He should have stopped her from dating the prat somehow. He should have been able to prevent this moment. Harry’s her best friend; isn’t it his job to protect her from slimy liars like him?

It was too late to prevent it, but he remembered after a few moments that it was also his job to comfort her. He’d never been much good at comforting.

“Lied about what?” he asked pointedly. The stern gleam in his green eyes was not comforting in the slightest. It was the same look he had given her months ago, every time he brought up his Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater theory. 

That was almost what hurt her the most. It seemed that so many people saw it coming. And worse, she had spent so much time defending him, thinking he was different, falling in love with the man she found him to be, when, in reality, he had been exactly what everyone else knew he was. 

And she was left to wonder if any of it had been real. 

“That part doesn’t matter,” she declared fiercely. 

She wasn’t sure why she was defending him now. Maybe she didn’t want to admit she had been wrong. Maybe because she thought she loved him. Maybe because she couldn’t say it out loud. 

But for some reason, she decided she wouldn’t tell Harry.

Harry looked at her softly, caring. “I want to help, Hermione.”

“I know, Harry, I know, And thank you, but what he lied about doesn’t matter.” She insisted, pleading with her tear-filled eyes. “All that matters is that it means we can’t be together. I can’t trust him. That’s it.”

Harry seemed like he wanted to argue with her more, like he always seemed to, but Hermione had made her decision and she refused to backtrack now. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she declared, not letting him speak. “Not right now. Tonight, I want to cry. Maybe tomorrow we can talk. Tonight, can you just stay with me?”

He pulled her close once again, sighing in defeat. “That, I can do,” he promised.

Ron almost felt sick from holding himself back. He wanted to help. He wanted to brush away Hermione’s tears. He wanted to pull her close. He wanted to make her feel safe and loved and important. 

He wanted to do a lot of things.

He wanted to punch the daylights out of Draco fucking Malfoy. But that wasn’t new. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know you must hate me right now. First I'm late posting. Then I pull this shit and break up Draco and Hermione right when they come together for real. I'm awful, I know. I hate me too. But I promise: THIS STORY WILL HAVE A HAPPY DRAMIONE ENDING. Thank you all who read, reviewed, and favorited last chapter. It is my favourite, too and I'm so excited so many people loved it!
> 
> Questions: What are your thoughts about the way Hermione found out? What do you think is going to happen next?
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	18. Alone

Chapter Eighteen: Alone

Hermione tied her hair back into a neat french braid. She buttoned up her uniform shirt. She tied her red and gold tie.

To the outsider, an average onlooker glancing as she walked by, Hermione Granger was fine. She sat in the front of every class with her hand raised at each question. She smiled with her housemates over lunch. She always wore her shirt perfectly tucked into her skirt, her stockings without a single run.

She looked so put together, so perfectly fine in every way.

But to everyone who knew her, the Gryffindor boys, Pavarti, Ginny, or Luna, Hermione was anything but fine. She poured herself over her schoolwork and textbooks at a level that would rival her Third Year. Her mouth might smile by the definition of the expression, but her eyes carried an ever-present glimmer of unshed tears. She slept beside the fire in the Common Room every night, where she would try to keep her crying quiet enough so that others wouldn't hear.

To Hermione herself, she was just _different_. She knew she wasn't _fine_ , but she also wasn't _not fine_ , either. She was somewhere in between. Somewhere near the place where you don't feel anything at all.

She'd become a ghost of herself, only going through the motions of the life she was expected to participate in.

Pretending.

Hermione, the marionette, moved through classes by the strings of expectation. She felt nothing, empty, and broken, but her body knew when to nod along with Ginny's pointless conversation, or when to smile because Harry was looking her way.

She knew that she was supposed to study and she was supposed to _move on_. But moving on was a concept entirely new to the brainy witch, and she was almost certain that whatever she'd had with Draco wasn't exactly real, so it probably shouldn't be this hard, right? She probably shouldn't spend so much of her time thinking about him, right?

But Hermione couldn't help it.

Her thoughts wandered back to him oh so often. It was the only time the slightest trace of emotion found its way into her heart: when she almost missed him before the agony set in. She couldn't stand to look at him in class or across the Great Hall. She'd gotten in the habit of getting to class early and sitting up front, then staying late so he'd already be out of the classroom by the time she turned around. She always faced away from the Slytherin table at mealtimes, when she went. She'd even been avoiding her dormitory altogether, avoiding her bed, which she knew to be covered with that green plush blanket, Draco's cloak draped over the bottom left post, and his Slytherin scarf tucked underneath her pillow.

They were all too tangible reminders of the happy moments she'd shared with him over the last two months. Each object marked important moments in their relationship that now gave her pain. Walks around the castle in the beginning, Draco slowly wiggling his way into her heart with actions filled with care, then how he'd completely warmed her up and made her feel protected and safe and wanted… But thinking about those memories, those moments, was too much now that she knew they were all lies.

That's one thing that made the week since their split even worse. She wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't.

Did he give her his cloak because he didn't want her to be cold or because he needed her to think about him after he'd left? Did he tell her those inspirational words because he wanted her to achieve great things, or because his task of fixing the cabinet was going too slow for his liking? Did he cover her with the blanket because he cared about her comfort while she slept or because he needed her to stay healthy so she could properly help him with the cabinet? Did he smile at the sight of her wearing his scarf because he was starting to like her for real, or was it because it showed that he had completely won her over?

No, facing her bedroom filled with these tormenting reminders would hurt too much. Instead, she preferred to sleep on the small, scratchy couch in the common room, pretending she didn't notice Harry's footsteps creep down the boy's staircase to check on her.

She let him stay the first night after he promised not to ask any more questions. She needed to know that somebody was still there, that people were still breathing, that the world was continuing around her even though her world had stopped.

But the next night, she insisted she was okay to be left alone. She told him that she needed to get better on her own, that she couldn't lean on him forever, but in reality, she didn't want him to see her cry any more than he already had. She supposed he'd been sneaking down with the invisibility cloak just to be sure.

She'd have to thank him when the weight of existing lightened– when she'd be liberated from this sinking feeling that was drowning her.

Currently, it was Thursday, midday. Hermione had skipped lunch. She sat in the bay window, gazing mindlessly over the grounds. Her eyes stuck on their bench by the lake for a little too long, and it stung again.

It was raining. She wondered if there were a spell that would allow the roof to disappear so she could feel the drops, so she could drown in them.

So she could smell that lovely smell of fresh rain that she craved so much.

No, Hermione wouldn't be so lucky. She liked to imagine the sky was crying for her, having sensed that she'd shed all of the tears her body could muster.

The sky was gray, with thick, dark, nimbostratus clouds and it reminded her of him, too.

Like the raindrops that she watched, Hermione felt like she was falling. Falling, deeper and deeper into a sad, dark place where no one goes and it never ends… until it does, with a crash and something physical to show for the brokenness she feels already.

But she'd continue to lie, donning a mask of her own when others were looking. She'd continue to pretend she was fine.

After all, she'd been lying all along, hadn't she?

Her relationship with Draco was fake, not real. Her feelings for Draco were real, not fake.

But worst of all, she insisted over and over again that Draco was not a Death Eater… and he was.

* * *

 

It was self-destruction.

Perhaps Malfoys are cursed, damned to a lifetime of unhappiness. Perhaps this particular Malfoy was destined to single-handedly repay the gods for every wrongdoing his ancestors had ever done. It seemed to be the only explanation.

Why else would his world come crashing down the moment he found true happiness?

_Oh yeah, it was all because of this fucking Dark Mark._

He'd stared at her vacated spot at the top of the stairs for hours after she left, thinking.

He'd finally had a taste of what life was supposed to feel like, what it was like to be wanted and accepted by someone you love. But then he had to remember. And then he had to tell her. And then… Then all of the exhilaration that he'd felt before vanished in the blink of an eye with the shed of a tear.

Her tear.

He'd lost her. And to Draco, that meant the same as losing everything.

Losing Hermione meant that he'd lost his hope. Without her by his side, he'd have no chance in fixing the cabinet, no chance at completing his task, no chance at surviving. But that thought only barely crossed his mind. It was an afterthought, a prayer, really. Because if he couldn't have Hermione, there wasn't really a reason to survive anyway.

That night, he lost the one person who had ever made him feel like a person, like something more than a mere Malfoy expectation. He never knew he would be able to love someone. He thought he was incapable - as all Malfoys are, but then Hermione swept into his world with her positivity and stubbornness and bright eyes and he suddenly found himself _feeling_. The way she talked about him, with that spark behind her retinas as if the sheer persistence of her look and her words could carve canyons into his unused heart so light could pour in. Draco, in all his sixteen years, had never known someone who could leave such a profound and lasting impact.

Sure, he couldn't forget his parents and himself, but Hermione was different because she didn't _have_ to. Maybe she didn't even _try_ to. Just by being her passionately perfect self, she had awakened something brighter inside Draco's soul, something he didn't know was there before.

Girls with that kind of power only come once in a lifetime, he knows, if they ever come at all, and he'd _lost_ her.

Hermione was it. She was brilliant, beautiful, and bossy in all of the best ways. She was determined and loyal like a true lioness. She was cunning and careful, always considerate of others. She was honest and selfless, she was passionate and funny. She was everything he needed and nothing he deserved. She was so effortlessly herself, and the world loved her for it, and for some reason, she'd chosen to smile at him on that tower and she'd chosen to kiss him back when no one was watching.

She smiled at him. She cared about him. She wanted him. He finally felt like he had a future that could have happiness in it, and then his past decisions, past failures, had blown it all up.

For a moment, then, when her tears were silent and he could feel her eyes on him, he'd almost hoped that she would stay. He hoped that she loved him enough to say, " _dammit Draco. That is the most mindless, reckless, senseless mistake you could have ever made. Why would you even consider this? Ugh, Nevermind, how can we fix this? How can we get you out of this? Surely there's something we can do."_

But that "Nevermind" never came. She didn't care to help. She didn't love him the way he loved her.

So she left.

He stood there for hours afterwards, staring at the top step, mourning the many casualties.

Their relationship. His hope. And, probably, his life.

But that night, Draco was so very wrong. Life could, indeed, get much worse. He thought losing her was hard? He thought battling those feelings of self-hatred and the devastating pain was difficult? Oh, he'd been wrong.

Watching her break when he told her he loved her, watching her cry for his faults, watching her leave, was painful. But falling more and more in love with her from afar was fatal.

He thought his feelings would start to fade as he no longer spent time with her. He thought without the big things that made him fall for her – kissing on cold benches, walking around the castle hand-in-hand, hearing her voice fill with passion when she gets on a rant, hearing her laugh or being the subject of her smile – without those big things, his feelings would disappear.

But the feelings were not fading, not in the slightest. They were growing, somehow, exponentially fast, and it made losing her even more painful.

His eyes drifted to her in every class, unconsciously searching for her in every room. He'd sit in the back row with Greg or the other Slytherins and he'd try to remain focused on the class or the professor or the textbook less than a foot in front of his face, but he couldn't. No matter his efforts, his eyes would find her.

It was quite distracting, to say the least. He found himself growing more and more in love with her with every day that passed. He couldn't fathom how that was happening. It was the little things that jumped out at him and captured his heart. It was the way she chewed on the end of her quill as she read, and the way she'd try to sneak a read at Potter's parchment without him noticing, no doubt intending to help. It was the way she tapped her feet below the tables in Potions, and the cute way her face looked all scrunched up when she held a hairband in her mouth and ran her hands through her thick curls to put it all up. It was the poise and pride in her posture and tone whenever she was exercising her responsibilities as a prefect. It was everything, all of the little things.

And it hurt! It hurt like hell to be falling more for the witch when she was getting on so well without him. It was driving him to utter madness. His feelings were so torn. He loved her so he wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. But it also killed him to see her smile at anyone else.

How dare she smile, didn't she know he was breaking? Didn't she know how much it tortured him to see that smile and not be able to kiss it? Didn't she know how hard telling her had been for him?

 _No_ , he scolded himself. _She wouldn't know._ She wouldn't know because he never tried to explain himself. He didn't bother to explain that this Mark wasn't something he wanted. He didn't bother to explain to her why he'd taken it. He didn't bother to tell her that he wished he hadn't.

He didn't explain the thoughts that circled his mind every day, or that he wondered if there could be another way to protect his mum. He didn't tell her that he frequently contemplated Potter's potential for succeeding in the war. He didn't tell her that he would trade everything he had, every knut to the Malfoy name to change the world they were growing up in.

He didn't tell her any of this because the moment she saw the Mark on his arm, she didn't look surprised. She didn't look confused. She understood. She believed without question that Draco willingly, eagerly signed his life away.

He didn't tell her any of this because she didn't for a moment wonder if he had other motives.

He didn't tell her any of this because deep down he knew that he deserved every bit of pain a human could possibly feel.

Today was Friday, five days after what he'd realized had been their breakup. Five days without kissing her, five days without speaking to her, five days without really even seeing her.

This was Friday, and only a week until what could have been their first non-fake date at Slughorn's party.

He couldn't get her out of his mind. He'd barely spoken to anyone and was doing his best to tune out the whispers that began to fill the halls as the other students started to figure out Draco and Hermione were no longer a couple.

Five days was too much. He had to do something. He had to see her, or feel her, or tell someone about what he was feeling inside. He had to get some of this pain off of his chest before it crushed him. But telling people wasn't an option. Telling someone would mean explaining their fake relationship, explaining the cabinet, and explaining his Mark.

Without Hermione, without anyone to talk to, Draco sat grumpily at the Slytherin Table for dinner, surrounded by students, but ultimately alone. Hermione sat at the other side of the room, facing away from him yet again. She was sitting next to that Irish bloke that blows stuff up all the damn time. Even from a distance, Draco could see the arrogant git was flirting with her; the bastard.

Draco mumbled a short incantation that turned his drink into something more alcoholic; firewhiskey.

He welcomed the burn as it traveled down his throat, sending warmth throughout his body. But it wasn't enough; it wasn't the same. He missed the warmth that was Hermione's touch and the way her eyes scorched his soul without pause or trying or forgiveness. He took another sip, hoping to feel something, anything other than the ache of missing her.

Still, he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you all who read, reviewed, and favorited last chapter even though it was kind of a downer. Like I said last week, THIS STORY WILL HAVE A DRAMIONE ENDING. I have a few ideas in mind for the rest of the story and I've found that it won't fit nicely in 26 chapters. It will probably end up being closer to 28/29, but I'll let you know when we're getting close. Shoutouts this week are for everyone who disliked the content of last chapter, but let me know how much they loved the writing! Seriously, each and every one of you saved me from feeling too awful all week.
> 
> Now, keep reading to see how our favourite couple ends up getting back together, shall we? Stay tuned.
> 
> Questions: Both of our characters are pretty torn up here, and I hope you liked getting some insight into Draco's thoughts following the breakup. Leave a review letting me know what you think!
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	19. Feel

Chapter Nineteen: Feel

"Why does Dumbledore even allow Quidditch anymore? It's so dangerous and distracts from our studies!" Hermione continued her never-ending rant to the only two sixth year Gryffindor boys that weren't on the Quidditch team. "Seriously, does no one care that this is, in fact, a SCHOOL, and not a sports club?!"

Seamus opened his mouth as if to respond to her question before Hermione continued passionately. "And Harry, Godric, what makes him think that holding practice well into dinner is a good idea? Surely he knows that food is only available for another fifteen minutes!" Her chalice of Pumpkin Juice hit the table with a little more force than she probably intended, the contents threatening to spill out without her notice.

Seamus smirked. He loved when Hermione got going on one of her tirades. He thought it was dead sexy when that feistiness came out. Ever since she and Malfoy had broken up, she'd been in a right state, and with Harry holding more and more quidditch practices, he found himself in her company more often than usual. It had only been a week, but Seamus had gotten used to sitting with Neville and Hermione at mealtimes- when Hermione came down at all. It quickly became his favourite part of his day.

"They need to eat," shouted Hermione, loud enough to make a few first years nearby jump.

"They've been going down for a team dinner in the kitchens most evenings, Hermione," explained Neville from his seat across the table. "Ron's idea. Ron loves Quidditch more than most, but do you think he'd let Harry starve him in the name of the House Cup?" Hermione did not look relieved in the slightest, so Neville offered a kind smile.

"Yeah, Ron doesn't put much above Quidditch, 'Mione, but food is above all in Ron's world," Seamus laughed along with Neville, gently nudging her with his shoulder. He was sitting beside her, facing away from the Slytherin table like she always did now. He didn't do it on purpose, though, as she had.

"Still," Hermione argued with a huff, "it's distracting from their schoolwork. And don't they realize the weather is dreadful? It hasn't stopped raining for a moment all week."

"That's why they're practicing so much," Seamus explained, with a confident-yet-smirky grin. "Harry bets the next match against Hufflepuff will be in these conditions and they need the extra practice."

Hermione, recognizing the boys would never understand, huffed and returned her attention to the dinner before her. Her potatoes took an unnecessary beating.

She hated when Harry kept the team into dinner. The players consisted of almost all of her friends, making dinner feel extremely lonely when they were gone. Neville was nice as always, and Seamus, too, but she missed Harry. Harry was also heartbroken, wishing he had Ginny. He understood better than Neville and Seamus could.

Neville was kind almost to a fault. He was sympathetic, never getting upset when she zoned out mid-conversation, distracted by a memory of Malfoy. He was helpful, sharing his personal herbology library with her so she could do better research for their most recent essay. He was gentle… but too gentle, Hermione thought. He was always kind, smiling and welcoming and thoughtful, but his smiles were always laced with a trace of pity. And pity was not at all what Hermione wanted right now.

Seamus was kind in another way. A way that was more in-tune with what Hermione needed. He was good company. He could always be relied on to spark a conversation on a new, interesting topic whenever their current discussion got too slow. She doubted he was consciously trying to help, but it did. Sometimes when she spoke with him, she wouldn't have enough time for her mind to wander all the way to Draco again. She enjoyed his light humor and the way he wasn't gentle with her. He teased her and joked as if everything was normal. As if she hadn't just been broken. As if her, him, and Neville hung out all the time. Seamus didn't treat her any differently like most everyone else did. It was refreshing.

Presently, Seamus was pouring her a fresh glass of pumpkin juice with a smile and changed the subject away from Quidditch, _thank goodness._

"I overheard McGonagall the other day talking about potential Head Girls for next year, 'Mione," he was saying, handing her the newly filled chalice.

She heard Neville's bright laugh across from her. "Let me guess," he smiled, gesturing toward the brunette witch in front of him. Hermione smiled at that, an almost real one.

"Your name was definitely mentioned– not that anyone would be surprised," Seamus confirmed. "Actually, McGonagall and Flitwick were trying to figure out another girl for you to contend with, but they couldn't think of any. You're easily top in our year in every way," Seamus praised, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him. Another almost smile crossed Hermione's lips.

A certain Slytherin on the other side of the hall scowled and unconsciously shot daggers the Irishman's way. Draco continued to force his potatoes around his plate with anger, not eating them. When Seamus began whispering in her ear, Draco fumed.

"You're the smartest, the most responsible, most reasonable, and most exquisite girl in our year, 'Mione," he was saying quietly in her ear. "Sounds like McGonagall sees it too." She smiled and shrugged his arm off with an eye roll.

"I wonder who Head Boy might be," Neville thought out loud.

Hermione's mind momentarily flashed a fantasy of her sharing Head Dorms with Draco, but that thought was fleeting. "Now, that's a much more appropriate place to steer this conversation," she joked, masking the emotional stab wound her daydream made with a forced laugh.

Seamus only smirked. "Lord knows it won't be any of our lot," he quipped, bringing Neville to snigger.

"Probably a Ravenclaw," he suggested. "I hear Anthony Goldstein is hoping for it."

Seamus looked over his shoulder to the Ravenclaw table in the direction of Neville's slight head point gesture, to where Anthony was sitting. When he turned back to his Gryffindor friends, the smile that stretched across his face echoed a joke that only he knew. He raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Neville in acknowledgement and a brief silence fell over them.

"I think he keeps his tie is impeccably straight because he isn't," Seamus commented at last.

Hermione couldn't help her cough as she choked on her pumpkin juice. Seamus tried to rub her back in concern, but she pushed him away and added a sharp hit to his shoulder as punishment for his crude comment.

Draco, on the other side of the room, completely lost his appetite from watching the scene. His fierce Hermione, being jokingly, punishingly, violent with someone else. It was entirely _wrong_.

Seamus continued, unabashed and smirking, "I'm pretty sure he shines his prefect badge before every meal."

"Shoes, too," added Neville, taking a sip of his own drink. Hermione's eyes went wide at Neville's participation.

Seamus shrugged his shoulders and tipped his head in the direction of the Ravenclaw Table, challenging her, "Just look, 'Mione. Check out his outfit, his hairstyle, the way he wears that scarf, that earring, and then tell me he isn't gay."

She'd forgotten her pain for the briefest of moments. She followed Seamus's directions and her own curiosity, but when she turned to face the other side of the Great Hall, she didn't see Anthony.

Her eyes connected almost automatically with Draco's and her heart stopped.

A bundle of nerves. A bundle of too many memories and too many things to say. Her eyes stayed fixed on his for a moment, blazing a fire that had been barely smouldering for five cold days. A mind buzzing and hands shaking and the surrounding sounds of forks clanking and mouths chewing and Gryffindor boys making snide comments, all of it just distorted white noise growing, eclipsing, overwhelming.

With a delayed breath, she blinked, and in the darkness, reality crashed, begging to be recognized.

Draco.

Panicked, she whipped her head back to its rightful spot so fast that her curls went flying in every direction and her pumpkin juice spilled all over, soaking her previously pristine white shirt. The sticky, orange liquid spread in a large wet spot across her top, exposing the outline of her tan bra and her curves below, but the clothing emergency was far from her mind.

She barely even noticed her shirt, for the image of Draco, even more pale and skinny than she remembered him being merely five days ago, was etched in her mind. He was looking at her, and though he did not look healthy, he looked handsome, and he looked hurt, sad, and even a little angry. And he had been looking at her. Her heart thrashed painfully in her chest.

She missed him, despite his betrayals. And she hated that.

Another one of Seamus' brazen comments pulled her from her thoughts. "Merlin, Hermione. Who knew you had a chest like that under your school robes."

Finally, she looked down and she noticed the transparent, sticky mess on her shirt. She pulled her arms around her chest hoping to hide, but it wasn't working in the slightest.

She cursed herself. She cursed her past self. She cursed her bloody emotions.

She'd left the common room without a cloak because Ginny had not been back from practice and she wasn't able to find anyone else to fetch it from her room for her. She still couldn't face her room full of things that reminded her of Draco.

Neville offered her his scarf, to help, but the mess was too big and she was starting to feel sticky.

"This is awful," she complained, rubbing her hands down her face. "Neville, could you come up to Gryffindor Tower and get a change of clothes from my room for me? Ginny isn't back yet," as if Ginny being gone was a reasonable reason.

She tried dabbing at the stain with her napkin but it didn't do anything to help. "Damn Quidditch!"

"Sorry, Hermione. You know boys can't go to the girls' room. I know there is a way around the slide, but after everything that happened at the end of last year, I think I'm reverting back to being a strict rule-follower," he told, referencing the time where they had all skipped school, stormed the Ministry, and engaged Death Eaters in a ruthless battle that didn't end particularly well.

"Seamus?" she tried. "Please, I can't stay like this," she begged, maneuvering the scarf but it wasn't able to cover the stain any better.

"Sorry, 'Mione. I rather like this view," the bold Irishman explained. "Besides, If I ever have the pleasure of stepping foot in the girls' dorms, you could bet your cute arse it won't be to fetch you fresh clothes if you know what I mean."

She hit his shoulder once again with a huff. She gathered her things and used her arms to cover her chest as well as she could, moving to ask the gossiping Parvati and Lavender to help.

"Sorry, _Granger_ ," Lavender bit. "We're about to hit the library. Loads of studying to do." _Surely with a brain as small as yours,_ thought Hermione. Still, the blonde stood to gather her things.

"Why don't you go yourself?" Parvati asked gently, slowly following Lavender's lead, who was already making her way to the door.

"It's just Draco's things everywhere," Hermione admitted to her kinder roommate. "His cloak, his scarf, a blanket, you know? I don't want to see them."

Parvati gave Hermione a confused look, "But Hermione, none of those things are there anymore. I thought you'd gotten rid of them a few days ago."

"Really?" Hermione asked, eyebrows furrowing. "His things are gone?"

"Yeah, I came back from Divination on Wednesday and they were gone. The cloak over the post, right? And a few other things on the bed, his scarf? Maybe it was Ginny or that house elf."

"Maybe you're right," Hermione pondered. "Thanks, Parvati, I'll- I'll go myself then."

* * *

 

 

"I THOUGHT I HATED QUIDDITCH, BUT I WAS WRONG. I DISLIKE QUIDDITCH, I HATE THE ELIZABETHAN ERA!"

"What the hell is that?" asked Ginny as she pushed through the portrait hole later that evening. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team trailed in after her.

"PATRIARCHAL PARADIGM, LOVE TRIANGLES, WOMEN HAVE NO RIGHTS, THEY CAN'T GET WORK. IT IS OUTRAGEOUS!"

A booming crash shook the Gryffindor Common room, resonating from somewhere above.

"Is that Hermione?" wondered Ron, a worried look crossing his face as Lavender stepped inside and draped herself all over him.

Another crash made the group jump. "What is going on?" Harry shrieked over the continuing noise.

"She's been at this for forty minutes!" Neville explained, joining the small crew forming. "I was about to go get McGonagall!"

"What is she on about?" Ginny asked over another bang from above that preceded a cascade of yellow sparks that rained down the stairwell.

"I'm going to check on her," stated Harry, followed by another crash and green sparks. "Who's coming?"

"PLAY ON? PLAY ON!? LET IT DIE! LET IT ALL DIE!"

Another wave of sparks filled the stairwell, some starting to singe the worn carpet at the base of the stairs.

A quick kiss goodbye shared between Dean and Ginny, the two Weasleys, Lavender - insisting she come since it was her room that was being so rudely destroyed- and Harry walked and levitated themselves up the stairs to the Sixth Year girls dorms.

It appeared all hell had broken loose– a tornado and a firework show in the tiny bedroom at the same time. Hermione's hair was a mess, more disastrous than usual. She wore an ugly stain that rendered her shirt entirely transparent. It was untucked. There was a run in her stocking. Her tie had, somehow, been torn.

She was stomping around the mess of fallen curtain hangings, two broken bedposts, a shattered mirror and the smouldering pages of a book flying everywhere. Hermione was still shouting, but her voice had reached such a shrill key that none present could understand a word she said.

She didn't even notice the small congregation that had formed at the door to watch her show until Harry boldly reached out in an attempt to grab her flaming wand. She shook him off violently, pointing her wand at him before she recognized him. Her wand found each spectator in turn, but she froze her aim on Ron and her eyes grew darker. The flame reaching out of the tip of her wand grew toward him threateningly.

"I want you out, Ron." she snarled.

"What did I do?" He asked bewildered and annoyed.

He knew they weren't on the best terms, but they had been cordial in the week since their walk. Could she know he'd taken Draco's things from her room? He couldn't see how she'd know it was him. She'd been mumbling in her sleep on the couch about the scarf, it was late. He thought the other girls would be completely asleep. When he cleaned out her room a few days ago, he thought it would make her happy, not maniacal.

"You're a pureblood, that's what you are!"

That wasn't remotely in the realm of what he expected and he almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Wow! Am I really? I didn't know!" he shouted back sarcastically, taking a step closer to the crazed witch, leaving his overdramatically crying girlfriend a few places behind. "Since when is being a pureblood reason to throw a bloody toddler's tantrum? Do you want to throw Ginny out, too?" he stormed.

"You're a man, Ronald. You're an entitled, pureblood man with power! And control! You can do whatever the hell you want and get away with it! AND I HATE IT! I WANT YOU OUT!"

"In case you haven't realized it, Hermione, I'm a blood traitor," he tried to reason through his growing frustration. "I have no power! And control? I can't even control my kid sister!"

"Well, that's true," the sister in question tried to joke. No one laughed.

Hermione stomped her feet like a reckless child. Holding up the book in front of her, she began to read, scream really, but read, too. "'If music be the food of love, PLAY ON, Give me excess of it that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die." She brandished her wand at a nearby pillow, exploding it, its feathers sent flying all around. "THAT STRAIN AGAIN,'" she shouted, eyes flaming. Another pillow exploded with another point of her wand. "'It had a dying fall.' Do any of you hear music? NO! I'm making the damn music!"

Hermione threw Draco's copy of Twelfth Night across her dormitory so forcefully that it ripped Lavender's bed curtains from their place. She brandished her wand in the direction of the small window over her roommate's bed, lighting it up with wand-made bullet holes, showering broken glass over the unmade blankets.

"What the hell, Hermione? That's my bed you've ruined!"

"Oh, please. It was ruined years before I set my clean hands upon it, don't play a fool. We all know you shagged Oliver Wood in here just last Christmas! But he wasn't the only one, was he?" Hermione accused haughtily.

"How dare you say that about me!" Lavender shrieked, boldly stepping closer. "Oh, you're just jealous, aren't you? At least boys _want_ to shag me!"

Ron's attempt to pull Lavender aside and his quiet plea for her to stop talking went wholly unsuccessful. The brainless witch continued spewing venomous slurs at Hermione, who was seething. "Sure, you got Draco, but so has everyone else! Newsflash, Granger, he'll sleep with anything that walks."

Ginny couldn't block Hermione's path fast enough, and with sharp, determined steps, Hermione reached her Roommate in seconds. Hermione's open hand slapped Lavender's cheek. Hard.

"And you're one to talk!" the psychotic version of Hermione screamed. "I'm surprised you've been able to keep it with just Ron for these few months. Usually, you have two or three boys on rotation."

Despite the tense atmosphere of the ever-shrinking bedroom, Ron felt an overwhelming sense of ease. Hermione had called him 'Ron.' Not Ronald, not Weasley, but Ron. It was the first time his familiar name rolled off her tongue in far too long, at least as far as he knew.

Lavender, cheek red with Hermione's handprint, laughed off the insult, though her anger was evident in the way her whole body shook. "Well," she seethed, "seeing as my Won Won is twice the man Malfoy is, I haven't had to! At least I can keep a man entertained for more than a few months. That's not something you can say, is it? No," she taunted dangerously, "Draco's left your scrawny arse, hasn't he?"

Hot tears threatened to spill over Hermione's blazing eyes, but she wouldn't let them. She could not possibly lower herself to crying in front of this- this-

Ugh. Hermione couldn't even think of a word offensive enough for Lavender Brown. She had been the reason for all of this! If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have ended up drinking tea to drown her sorrows in the kitchens with Dobby. If it wasn't for her, Hermione wouldn't have wanted to get revenge on Ron. If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have ended up in that fake relationship with Draco.

She wouldn't have been forced to get to know him, she wouldn't have had a reason to be comforted on that bench so long ago, she wouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch across from him, she wouldn't have gotten to really know Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't have fallen in love with him. She wouldn't be heartbroken! She wouldn't be here, left wondering how much of it had been real!

Hermione, furious with Lavender and the pain of breaking up with Draco drowning her lungs all over again, set her wand on the half-destroyed version of Lavender's bed. With an easy flick of her wand, the bed lit up in hungry flames.

Lavender took a step forward, taking sharp hold of Hermione's head of chaotic curls, then brought her opposite hand up to strike the brunette's cheek. Soon, the girls were sending their fists flying everywhere, not knowing with whom their fists were colliding.

Harry shared an appalled, frantic look with Ginny before he stormed the quarreling girls, attempting to pull Hermione away from both the other witch and her own wand. Ron was already on top of Lavender, trying to pull his girlfriend off of Hermione while restraining the flailing arms to her side.

Ginny, thank goodness, had made quick work on the flaming mattress, extinguishing the fire with a nicely-used aguamenti charm.

When the girls were separated, though their arms were still flailing in many directions to resist their captors, Ron shouted over them all. "Hermione, I don't know what this is about, but it isn't about my blood, it isn't about that ancient muggle author, nor is it about Lavender's sex life. This is crazy! I'm taking her out of here so you can maybe calm down enough to talk through whatever it is that's got your knickers in a twist." He pulled a very heavy lavender into a more comfortable constraining position, then turned to Harry and added, "I'm taking this one downstairs."

Hermione continued to struggle against Harry for a few moments after the door had closed. Harry held her tightly, trying to avoid any serious injuries himself. Ginny was doing what she could to repair the damage around the room, and slowly, Hermione calmed until her body felt limp in Harry's arms.

She was crying softly. He held her tighter.

Hermione knew that she was falling apart. What had gotten into her? This wasn't her. Hermione doesn't throw tantrums. She'd gone crazy, absolutely certifiable! And the worst part was, she didn't even have a good reason.

She'd entered the dorm and was surprised to see that Parvati had been right- Draco's things were, in fact, gone. However, it didn't take her long to notice the blue-covered copy of Twelfth Night sitting on her bedside table. To an outsider, it would be just another one of Hermione's many books. But when Hermione saw it, she saw Draco. It was the book he'd given her that first day. And she just spiraled from there.

The ancient story was about love, built through a web of lies, disguises, deceit, and accidental feelings. Before she thought he was making a funny joke about their fake relationship back on that first day, linking their lives to those main themes.

But when she pictured it before, she had always been Viola. Now? Now she saw Twelfth Night for what it really was: a warning. _He_ was Viola. He lied to her about his identity the whole time, yet she still fell in love with him.

And here she was now, screaming for reasons she pretended didn't exist, and she missed him.

Hermione turned in Harry's arms, letting her best friend hug her exactly how she needed. The tears wouldn't stop. Ginny was repairing the room, the one that she had been destroying for the better part of the last hour.

She cried more.

"I miss him," she admitted aloud, her voice shaking. "I saw him today for the first time, you know? We made eye contact across the Great Hall at dinner. And– and– and, _Godric_ , that hurt. It might not have even been a second, but it melted me. I should be mad. I should hate him. I guess I do," she pondered, thinking out loud, "maybe a little bit, but mostly I miss him."

"Why don't you try talking to him?" suggested Ginny.

Hermione sighed, brushed away her silent tears and moved away from Harry, who had stiffened uncomfortably once she actually started talking about Draco.

She found a comfortable spot on the edge of her bed and sat. Everything felt heavy.

"It could never work now, Ginny. I can't explain it, but we're…"

"'Irreparable' was the word you gave me," offered Harry with a note of bitterness and a disapproving look. He wandered over to Hermione's bed and, awkwardly, took a seat beside her.

"Is that your decision or his?" the bold witch asked forcefully, pausing her spellwork around the room. "Because he's been staring at you all week. I've never seen anything other than that smirk on his face, but this week, he looked dejected, Hermione. He looks like he's missing you too."

Hermione couldn't meet her eyes. "We just can't. It can't work. Circumstances–

Ginny rolled her eyes with a level of attitude only she could make. "That's rubbish," she proclaimed, scowling. "No, honestly, that is complete bullshit. When you have a real reason, when you're ready to explain, I'll be happy to listen to it."

She resumed her work around the room, ignoring the sad look that took over Hermione's face and the glare Harry was currently giving her. The pair just sat in silence, watching Ginny's wand illuminate the room in a sorrowful rhythm.

Hermione understood where Ginny was coming from. She had been relatively vague with the reasons she'd given for their break up. She had to be, didn't she? She knew Harry had been just as curious, too, but after nearly a week of arguing, her refusing to talk about it, Harry had seemed to give up for now.

Hermione wished Ginny would do the same, but they were both fire signs, and the odds of either of them relenting seemed slim.

Ginny found a stitch of dirty, light gray fabric lying under the contents of Hermione's upturned chest. It was part of the dress they picked out when they went shopping in Hogsmeade, mildly singed from a curse.

"Take it out on the dress, did you?" the redhead inquired, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Hermione couldn't be sure whether it was the sight of the destroyed dress or Ginny's critical tone that set off the new set of tears that streamed silently down her face. If she didn't give into her hand's impulse to reach up and brush the wetness away, no one might have noticed. But Hermione's willpower was extremely lacking tonight.

 _Clearly_.

"Harry, can you give us a minute?" asked Ginny, her expression softening at the sight of Hermione's stress.

"I'll just go to bed, I think," he answered as he rose from the bed. He placed a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead and wiped a few tears from her face before he turned to leave. "I'll check on you in the morning, Mione," he promised.

When the door had closed leaving the two fierce witches alone, Hermione laid back against the bed, continuing to brush underneath her eyes.

Ginny smiled sadly at the sight, and with a wave of her wand, the room began righting itself. Hermione could see the paint above her slowly transforming back into its original pristine state. Her thoughts were jealous- jealous of the stupid ceiling. She wished there was a spell that would magically fix _her_ so easily.

She was laying on her back, eyes fixed on the paint, but she could feel the mattress dip beside her under Ginny's weight. The redhead laid back, too, and they watched.

"What is this all about?" Asked Ginny after a few moments.

"I'm not even sure I know." Answered Hermione honestly.

The small smile on Ginny's face could be heard as she spoke. "Boys really suck, don't they?"

Both girls laughed at that, agreeing, and Ginny was glad that Hermione seemed to have calmed down enough to actually talk.

"So what happened? You've been avoiding this room like the plague all week and while I'm glad I won't be having to fetch your clothes and books every day, I'm not sure I love the idea of you burning the castle down instead." Hermione's hands reached up to cover her face and she groaned realizing how silly her behaviour sounded when Ginny put it like that.

"Don't tell me the dress took the first hit," the redhead continued lightly.

Well, it sort of had.

"It was the book," Hermione explained, summoning the mostly-mended book. Some of the pages were still smoldering, some half-gone. She sighed. "It was the first thing Draco gave me, on the day we first got together," she explained. "I tried so hard Ginny, once I saw it sitting on the nightstand. I took a deep breath and I tried to push all thoughts of him from my mind. Godric, that was hard. Just picking it up, I could practically feel his hand on my back and I- I don't know. I knew I had to put it away, somewhere deep in my trunk where I wouldn't have to see it again. I was doing so well," she breathed taking a breath and running her hands down her face again. "I wasn't crying, I was trying my best not to think about him, but then I opened my trunk and right on top was the dress. And-

She trailed off, Ginny listening in the silence.

"Ginny, The dress isn't the color of Slytherin," Hermione admitted. "It's the exact color of his eyes after he kisses me. And I- I think that's when I snapped."

Hermione was still covering her eyes so she wasn't able to see the soft smile that crossed Ginny's face. The younger witch thought it was adorable that Hermione had such a lovestruck side, especially with the way she was trying so hard to hide it. But Ginny also knew that now was not a good time to talk about that. She reached a hand to Hermione's leg and soothingly rubbed it.

The curly-haired witch groaned with self-loathing. "This is such a mess."

"Yeah, but look," Ginny prompted. "The room is already mostly fixed."

"But the dress-

"Stop it," Ginny reprimanded, her fierceness poking through. "The dress can be fixed, too. Are you not a witch?"

"I know, Ginny, but the color- it's too much him. I can't possibly-

The redhead sat up on the bed and turned to face Hermione. She towered over her from her new spot, glaring at her in a way that made Hermione squirm.

"You. Are. A. Witch!" Reminded Ginny, punctuating each word with a jab of her finger. "There are darkening and lightening spells for fabrics so I beg you to stop with the excuses. You're going to the party."

"But Ginny, I haven't got a date!" Hermione shouted, sitting up, too. Her breathing was shallow as she processed her own words. Saying it out loud gave Hermione another surge of pain.

Noticing the shocked, still expression on her friends face, Ginny softened. She let Hermione catch her breath. She waited.

"I don't have a date," she repeated softly once she calmed herself. "Draco was supposed to take me. It's been planned for months," she admitted sadly, "before we even started dating. It was one of the things that got us together, actually."

The soothing hand of Ginny's was tracing paths up and down Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione, listen to me," she pleaded. "Malfoy is not the only boy at Hogwarts. I know it's hard to think about right now, I know you're still hurting, but there is not a boy in this castle that wouldn't be lucky to take you to Slughorn's Christmas Party."

"I don't know-

"You can come with me and Dean," she offered. "The three of us can go as friends, as a group."

"I love you Ginny, but I don't think being a third wheel all night is going to make me feel much better."

"Then go with Harry," Ginny suggested.

Hermione sighed again. "He's already asked someone."

"Really?" The curious tone of Ginny's voice made her wonder if Ginny knew about Harry's feelings for her. And did she detect a tiny dose of jealousy?

Hermione nodded. "He already has a date."

A small silence fell between them. In front of them, Lavender's bed was still righting itself. It really had taken a majority of Hermione's curses.

"What about Seamus then?" Ginny asked. "He's best friends with Dean, so we can all hang out.

"I don't know Ginny." Seamus' earlier comments were flowing back through her mind. He was fun but- "he's..." she trailed off unsure of what she wanted to say.

"I know he's bold and brash, but you know he's fun to be around. Besides, you know he likes you," Ginny said with a smirk. She bumped her shoulder into Hermione's playfully.

"He likes my body, sure," Hermione laughed, looking down again at her transparent shirt.

Ginny laugh filled the air, too, mingling with Hermione's. The air felt lighter. "He likes a lot of things about you, Hermione. What guy wouldn't?"

Hermione's round brown eyes rolled at that and she shook her head.

Ginny pushed again, "just ask him, okay? As friends even- I'm sure he'll say yes. And he cleans up well, too," she explained. "We can all go together and drink expensive Meade and I'll do my best to make sure he doesn't try anything."

Hermione laughed again but sighed in defeat.

"He is a good kisser, though," Ginny added confidently. "If you're wondering."

Hermione just looked at her friend, disbelief written all over her face. "Seamus?"

"Who else would I be talking about?"

"When did you kiss Seamus?"

"Sometime last year, after Anthony and I broke up," Ginny shrugged.

"Does Dean know you've kissed his best friend?" Hermione teased.

"Of course," she explained. "He knows about Neville, too."

"Oh my god, Ginny! Have you kissed them all?"

"Well not Ron, obviously. Not Harry either," she shrugged. "But the other three, yes. Ron doesn't know, so don't tell him, okay? You know how he gets."

Hermione sighed and shook her head at Ginny's antics. It really was a marvel at how Ginny, a year younger, was so much better with boys than she was.

"You'll ask him, won't you?" The redhead asked, bringing the conversation back.

"I'll ask him."

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hermione is like us all: She can only pretend for so long before she breaks. For those of you who are STILL concerned about our couple, I'm sorry. It had to happen. This is my take on what a realistic sixth year would look like if Draco and Hermione got together. A little angst is guaranteed. But I promise, again and again and AGAIN, that our couple will work things out in the end. Promise. Shoutout this week to BlueHeaven. Dear BlueHeaven, you lovely, lovely reader, welcome to Better Than Revenge! Your comment sent my heart to a very happy place and I am so glad you are enjoying the story! I hope this chapter pleased you, too. 
> 
> Questions: You saw a bit of Jealous Draco here in the background. Want to see more? Also, what are your thoughts about Hermione slapping Lavender? A bit extreme, I agree. But our girl is having a major mental breakdown. Did Lavender have it coming? 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Sign up for updates here, too! You never know when I might give an extra chapter mid-week... Wouldn't that be something?
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	20. Lost

Chapter Twenty: Lost

In the Dungeons of Slytherin, Draco leaned precariously in his chair, feet resting on the top of the desk he rarely used. The drink in his hand had been finished and refilled so many times, he had lost count. His gaze, unfocused and blurry, drifted over the tiny vial of black liquid that sat on the far edge of his desk. Beside it lay a crumpled letter from Snape.

' _You know what to do.'_

Draco pushed the thought from his mind with another sip. Firewhiskey burned down his throat like Hermione's eyes - the kind of pain he'd gladly suffer time and time again. Another sip. She had looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time all week and in those three seconds when their eyes held, he felt alive. But then she turned away, and with her retreating wide-eyed gaze, she took with her the breath he had been holding. Again, the suffocating feeling of death, of regret, of jealousy, raged in his caged heart.

And Draco was cold once again. He drank.

The suffering blonde barely noticed when Blaise returned to their dorm, the awful Pansy Parkinson in tow. He took another sip. Maybe, if he kept drinking, they'd blur until they disappear.

"Drakey, were you ever going to tell me you and that bossy bint broke up?" Shrieked Pansy much too loud and much too tearful.

He continued to recline in his chair, refusing to give her the satisfaction of his full attention. "Fuck off, Pansy," he drawled. Another sip.

"What if I do something else instead?" the witch flirted, wrapping her cold, bony arms around his chest. "I could help you forget about her."

Draco shrugged her off but turned to face her. He noticed Blaise listening in, watching with a smirk. _Blaise can fuck off too._ "What do you think the drink is for?" he sneered.

"You know what they say, Drakey, the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else." She was running her clammy hands up and down his arm now, causing his nose to crinkle.

Again, he shoved her off as he aggressively moved over to his bed on the other side of the room. "I'm not interested, Pansy. I don't need you. Please leave."

He didn't have the energy to send her away with any more articulate words. He was too drunk to be eloquent, but he wasn't drunk enough to want to have sex with Pansy. No, he wanted to be left alone with his thoughts about Hermione. He thought, if he drank enough, maybe he'll start to hallucinate and imagine she's there with him. Maybe, if he drinks enough, he'll pass out and won't wake up. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the Dark Lord's task or his heartache. Wouldn't that solve everything?

He took a long drink from his cup, finishing it. _Was that 9? Or 11?_ Draco took hold of the bottle on his bedside table, pouring himself another glass.

Pansy was still talking, but Draco had stopped listening to her a few minutes ago. When Draco pushed her off his bed and onto the floor forcefully and without apology, she finally got the picture and left.

But Blaise was still there, which he made known as soon as Pansy slammed the door shut. "So, you're over Granger, are you?" Draco didn't have to look to see the smirk on his face.

"Shut it, Blaise. I'm not in the mood."

"Are you ever in a good mood?" he joked. Draco scowled. "Draco, mate, it's an important question. Pansy won't be the only girl who wants to know–

"Fine!" Draco shouted, cutting him off. "I'm over Hermione. Is that what you want to hear?" It was a lie. Even in his drunken state, he knew it was far from true. But he was drunk and he wanted everyone to just leave him alone. Why wasn't anyone understanding that?

"Actually, that is what I wanted to hear."

The confidence in Blaise's voice set Draco on edge. "What do you mean?" asked Draco, confused at the sneaky smile on his roommates face.

"Well if you're over her, she's fair game, isn't she?" Blaise provoked.

"No," the blonde bit sharply.

Blaise smirked. "No, you're not over her?"

"No, she is certainly _not_ fair game." The words came out of his mouth dripping venom. He took another long sip from his glass.

"Ahh, but she becomes fair game the moment you get over her. So, if you're over her like you claim to be, then the rest of us are free to take a turn," the dark-skinned boy twirled his wand around his finger smugly.

Blaise felt the glare being fired his way; Draco was fuming. "I will not warn you again, Zabini."

"You know, that party of Slughorn's is coming up. I thought I'd ask her to be my date."

For a drunk man, Draco moved across the room and invaded the Italian's space rather quickly. Draco stunk of alcohol, but his fist gathered Blaise's shirt with a powerful force, lifting the daring man's torso from the bed.

"You can't be serious," he threatened.

"Well, I was thinking maybe if I took her on an actual date, I could finally learn how she kisses in private."

Blaise took the series of punches without crying out once. When Draco released him after three good hits, he could feel a bruise around his eye beginning to swell and could taste the blood that trickled down from his nose and into his mouth. Or was it the split lip?

It didn't really matter.

This was what Draco needed. To let it out.

"I suppose you aren't over her then," Blaise observed with a pained, deep voice.

The blonde dragged himself back to his bed and took a seat, hanging his head in between his legs.

Blaise wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, coughing at the effort it took to breathe through his nose. "You know," he said, "it's okay to still want her. I know confronting that terrifies you. It terrifies every man. But you also need to realize that someone else is going to pursue her. She's going to move on eventually if you do nothing. She's going to go with someone else to the party. She's going to get another date to Slughorn's if you don't talk to her. And soon."

Draco set his empty glass down and ran his hands down his tired face. Without saying a word, Draco slipped into his shoes without tying them, and left the room.

* * *

By the time Ron had managed to carry Lavender to the common room, she was full-out crying. Sobbing, no, blubbering really, all over his shoulder. It was bloody disgusting if he was being honest. He hated the way she snotted all over him, leaving giant black streaks down his shirt as if she was proud of the fact that she could cry.

She was always crying.

Crying, or whining, or pouting, or shrieking, or judging, or trying to have sex with him.

Ron was thankful to see Parvati on one of the couches and led his girlfriend in that direction with the hopes that Parvati would share this one with him instead of leaving him to console Lavender on his own.

Lavender managed to sit down, transferring her head to the shoulder of her other roommate. Ron felt obligated to do something so he took to rubbing his hand up and down her back.

"I don't understand what I did wrong," she was saying through thick tears. "Who does she think she is? Shouting all of those mean things at me, in front of Won Won, too!"

Parvati gave Ron an imploring look over the top of Lavender's head, asking him to explain more as she hugged the sobbing blonde close. He shrugged, thoroughly unsure why Lavender was so upset and not caring nearly enough to try to figure it out.

Dramatics. Always dramatics, and he didn't have the energy to keep up.

Besides, this time, Lavender wasn't exactly faultless. She's being more daft than usual if she doesn't realize mentioning Malfoy was a terrible idea. To Ron, it was obvious that Hermione's current state of desperation, anger, and madness was somehow linked to her breakup with Malfoy.

Ron wondered if the snake did something new to upset her or if she was finally releasing week-old feelings that had been expounding in the confines of her mind. Either way, Ron wished she had taken some of that anger out on the prat instead; surely a few good hits would help her feel better?

True, Lavender had made it all worse with her dramatics and cruel words, but as far as Ron aw it, Hermione was in a state before they even showed up. He doubted the destruction of Lavender's bed really had anything to do with Lavender at all.

When Ron took to listening again, he frowned at what he heard. "It's not my fault Malfoy got tired of her! She's boring and bossy and so incredibly annoying with all of those books she carries around," ranted Lavender. "What did she expect? It's not like she's that good looking. She doesn't even bother to do her makeup or tame that hair of hers-

Ron was tuning her out again.

Frankly, he didn't quite agree with Lavender on this one. He thought Hermione was one of those people that just made you question the possibility of perfection.

She was simple in that she rarely made you wonder what she meant. She was mostly honest and the best combination of Gryffindor and good. She was a fiery kind of passionate and she wasn't soft. She was brilliant and hardworking and constantly working towards the next thing.

Lavender was wrong about many things. She must have also been blind. Hermione was beautiful. Unlike Lavender, she didn't need to bother with heavy makeup. She was beautiful without really trying.

"I don't deserve this!" Lavender continued to cry out, her voice sounding more and more high-pitched with every breath she took. "I hate living with that vile, rude, inconsiderate trollop!"

Dean and Seamus looked over at Lavender from their spot across the room. Seamus frowned at her words, his eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Shhhh," Ron implored, "maybe keep it down a bit?" He suggested as kindly as he could. "Other people are starting to stare."

She sobbed even louder now, shrieking at him. "I can't control the volume of my tears, Ronald!"

Sighing, Ron ran a hand through his curly hair. He hoped Lavender would calm down soon so he could go to sleep. This was all… too much.

He also wondered how Hermione was doing. He hoped Harry and Ginny were able to calm her down. Did they remember that camomile tea was her favorite?

"RON, I swear you're not even listening to me!" screeched Lavender in his ear as her head came to rest on his shoulder again, painting fresh black stains. Lavender's hands began tracing the outline of his pectoral muscles through his shirt.

The redhead sighed again. He gingerly took her hands in his, removing her from his body, and turning to look her straight in the tearful, blotchy eyes.

"Lavender, I can't do this anymore."

The words didn't seem to register in her ears, her expression remained relatively unchanged.

He tried again, "Lavender, I can't be your boyfriend anymore."

Rather than more tears, her face contorted with rage. The color of her cheeks reddened, and her eyebrows knitted together in a very unflattering shape. "What do you mean, Won-Won?" She attempted to move her hands from where they were held in his back to his torso, but he stood up instead.

"For the love of Merlin, please don't call me that. How many times do I have to ask you?" A thick sigh escaped his lips. He reached to run his hand through his hair again.

"Look, Lavender, you're a fine witch," he lied, "but I can't do it anymore. You're constantly whining and crying and I- I just- I won't do it anymore. I'm breaking up with you."

Just getting those words our felt like a major weight being lifted off of his shoulders. It had been fun at first, but everything got annoying rather quickly and dating her now felt like more of a chore than a pleasure.

"I don't understand, Won-Won," she cried. Reaching out towards him, her hands tried to bring him back to the couch, but he stepped out of reach in time. "I love you! And you love me, don't you?"

"Don't make this harder than it is, Lavender," Ron sighed, avoiding her questions. "I'm sorry," he promised, but he wasn't. He held his hands up like stop signs, preventing her from following him. "We just aren't as good together as we hoped."

Parvati began tracing circles on Lavender's back in an attempt to calm the once again blubbering witch down. When her eyes met Ron's though, she didn't look angry with him. Instead, her eyes seemed to ask _how could you do this right now_ , instead of _how could you do this at all_?

"But Won Won–

"I'm sorry, it's done. Please," he begged. "I'm going to see if Seamus wants to play some Wizard's Chess, okay? Give me some space. Don't follow me."

Her cries and shrieks filled the common room for another twenty minutes, but Ron had gotten good at ignoring her. The noise didn't bother him at all.

Harry had come down from the Girls' dorms not long after Ron left lavender, but he headed straight for his own dormitory, not bothering to fill-Ron in on Hermione's state.

Why was he always so left out of everything? When would Hermione let him out of the dark? Should he apologize again?

"Your turn mate," Seamus noted with a gesture to the bishop he had just moved.

Ron was thankful for Wizard Chess. It was exactly the outlet he needed after such an eventful, dramatic day.

* * *

Draco didn't remember the walk up to Gryffindor Tower being so long and so…. cold… and so many stairs! Didn't he already pass by the painting of the skeleton? And wasn't the obnoxious knight painting on the third floor?

Salazar, this castle was so confusing.

Dressed in uncharacteristically wrinkled trousers and a white button up that flowed over his waistband, untucked, Draco slumped against the cold slate wall. After an hour of meandering through the castle, the Slytherin finally found himself in the corridor of Gryffindor Tower. He took a moment to steady himself, using the wall as support while he took deep breaths to calm his spinning mind.

The Fat Lady and her portrait were just around the corner and up one more flight of stairs. So close, yet Draco paused.

This spot reminded him of a kiss he was able to steal one evening when Ginny and Dean came around the corner. It had been a Saturday; they had spent the afternoon studying in the library. She smelled like books and she tasted like heaven and tea with two sugars, just the way he liked it.

She wanted to stop by her room to get her cloak– or rather the one she'd stolen from him on their first night– before going to work on the cabinet that evening.

Draco thought about that cloak. She still had it. He wondered if she still had it draped over her bedpost, or if she'd shoved it deep into her traveling chest. Maybe she'd burned it. Maybe she'd give it back to him when she saw him next.

Maybe she wants to keep it.

Overwhelmed with new hope, Draco pulled himself up the last flight of stairs, which placed him directly in front of The Fat Lady. Her lips were pursed in a thin line rather than the usual exuberant smile she usually wore when she saw him, but that small detail didn't phase the inebriated Malfoy Heir.

"I'm here to see Her- Hermione Granger," he hiccupped. That's when she noticed the clumsiness of his movements and his tie hanging crooked and loose around his neck.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger isn't available right now," the portrait explained calmly. She'd been listening to the girl's ridiculous shouts all evening. She was here, of course, but The Fat Lady was wise enough to know that Hermione wouldn't be up for speaking at the moment. Especially if she was right in her assumption that the shouting had been about the Slytherin boy.

"No, please, I have to see her," he begged.

"It's past curfew, Mr. Malfoy. Certainly whatever you need to say can wait until tomorrow."

"I'm already out of bed!" he protested with a raising voice. He waved his arms around so much they were beginning to throw him off balance.

"I'm afraid she isn't in the common room, I have no way to reach her."

He was growing more frantic, more angry with every rejection. He was pacing in front of the portrait, fists clenched but feet dragging. "What about last time? Can you send someone to get her?" he asked. He paused for a moment to look up at the painted witch, "Please?"

It was the "please" that had done it. That, and her knowledge of his persistence. He'd continue pestering her for hours until he passed out, and The Fat Lady didn't have time or patience for that.

* * *

"Mr. Weasley! MR. WEASLEY!" shouted a woman's voice from the other side of the common room. It was The Fat Lady all turned around in her painting, apparently searching for him.

Ron spelled his knight to take Seamus' queen, ignoring the noise. He'd had enough of over-emotional witches lately. When it wasn't Lavender, it was Hermione, when it wasn't Hermione, it was Ginny, when it wasn't Ginny, it was- The Fat Lady?

Merlin help him, who was it now?

With an eye roll and a huff Hermione would be proud of, Ron left Seamus with a nod and a mumbled: "I'll be right back."

"MR. WEASLEY! Oh, Mr. Weasley, thank goodness you heard me," The Fat Lady began. "Someone is here to see Miss. Granger… and they won't take no for an answer."

"Who is it?" he asked, eyes narrowing.

"It's Mr. Malfoy," she confessed, chest falling.

 _He's got some nerve,_ thought Ron.

The redhead forced the portrait hole open with such force, The Fat Lady was squawking loudly in her frame. He stepped out of the passage with incredible aggression, his wand up and ready, pointing directly into the ferret's nose.

"You've got thirty seconds to explain why you're here, Malfoy, before I hex that pointy nose of yours right off that sniveling face."

Malfoy's eyes went wide momentarily, but that characteristic arrogance returned all too quickly, causing Ron's grip on his wand to tighten.

"What kind of joke is that portrait lady playing at?" he asked, a scowl making the gaunt lines of his face look sharper, harsher, and angrier.

"Malfoy, I fucking swear–

At the Gryffindor's half step toward him, Malfoy decided to answer honestly, though his superior, confident tone remained. "I'm here to talk to Hermione." The way he puffed out his chest when he said her name made Ron's face redden.

"Why?"

"I have to ask her about the party next week. I wasn't sure if we were still going together."

Ron could see Draco's confidence deflating, his eyes slowly glazing over. Ron's knuckles became white as sheets as he gripped his wand viciously, jabbing it into the asshole's chest hard enough to make him sway.

Drunk. Bastard.

The Gryffindor took a deep breath in an attempt to soothe his suddenly overwhelming fury. "You want to know… if you're still... attending Slughorn's party together?" It came out as a choke, unbelieving, and the prat thought it would be a good idea to flash that bloody smirk.

The prat was so damn wrong.

Ron had thought about it loads of times over the past few years: after he called Hermione a Mudblood in Second Year, then third year when he'd blown the Buckbeak incident all out of proportion – but Hermione had taken the chance before he could – fourth year when he hexed Hermione's teeth, and just last year when he was boasting about on the Inquisitorial Squad.

Ron had contemplated punching the ferret many, _many_ times before.

Tonight, the Gryffindor had finally reached his breaking point.

The force of Ron's left fist sent the pale boy to the floor with a thump. His nose was undoubtedly broken, and the skin below his right eye would surely bruise in ugly shades of purple and blue. Ron watched, breath heavy from adrenaline, as Malfoy nursed his wounds with clumsy hands that covered his face.

"Some nerve you have, Malfoy, showing up here, pissed out of your fucking mind, asking for Hermione," Ron spat years of pent-up anger in those words, but the image of Hermione crying, going crazy at whatever shit this bastard pulled haunted Ron's thoughts and drove his fury.

"She cried over you. She cried for days. She's still crying!" Malfoy's eyes were shut tight, his hands still covering his pale, bruising, bleeding face. "Did you know that, Malfoy? Did you know that she hasn't been able to step foot in her room all week because your things were displayed all around and she couldn't face it? Gryffindor's brave and clever girl is hiding, cowardly, a trait she's picked up from you, I expect.

"She's miserable, but she doesn't want anyone else to know it. But I can tell," Ron shouted, eyes angry and finger pointing proudly to his own chest. "Harry and I are her best friends, we can see through her fake smiles and the way she pours herself into schoolwork whenever she's emotionally suffering."

Ron looked over Draco's body, but the blonde just lay there, face covered, eyes scrunched, submissive for once in his goddamn life. Ron couldn't tell what the other boy was thinking- _if_ he was thinking at all. Part of him hoped he'd punched him so hard that Malfoy had been knocked unconscious.

The Gryffindor dropped his voice into a low snarl. "She barely sleeps, she skips meals, she throws tantrums like a four-year-old… I don't know what you told her, Malfoy, but I hope you're happy knowing that you broke Gryffindor's unbreakable girl. So, to answer your question: no. I don't think Hermione will be needing you to escort her to the party. I can assure you that there are plenty of blokes who would love to take her, ones that don't make her cry herself to sleep."

* * *

The portrait hole clicked shut signaling the Gryffindor's departure, and everything was silent. After a moment, Draco lowered his hands from his face, palms drenched in blood. Even from her odd angle, The Fat Lady could see the glistening of tears running down his face; one after the other. Drip. Drip. Drop onto his white button-up. Blood and tears mixed as he brought himself to a shaky standing position, then he turned with great effort to descend the stairs.

The Slytherin Prince, drunk, dizzy, and defeated, staggered his way to the dungeons. Back in his own room, roommates all asleep, he let sleep take over what little control of his body he'd had left.

When he awoke, Draco only remembered the exact shade of amber Hermione's eyes flashed when she looked at him across the Great Hall. He remembered the bitter feeling of jealousy following his conversation with Blaise. He remembered the skeletons in the painting next to the second moving staircase. But he didn't remember ever reaching Gryffindor Tower. His memory stopped just moments before when he'd thought about that kiss, and when he woke, he thought he could taste her tongue with perfect tea and sugar. But quickly, the taste faded, an illusion, as did the memory, now melting and blue.

Firewhiskey will do that to you. Or is that heartbreak?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy... Tuesday? What is this madness? Yessss, I'm giving you an extra chapter this week. I was itching to get Draco's rough night out alongside Hermione's. I'm also wanting to get back to scenes with them together! They're both in dark places of insanity without each other. Next chapter is Slughorn's party and it should spark some major feels. Stay tuned!
> 
> Questions: Should Hermione find out Ron punched Draco? What do you think of Ron breaking up with Lavender? What character does your heart hurt for most right now?
> 
> Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin2 for her generous help with this story. BTR would not be what it is without her!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Ask me questions, let me know what you think of each chapter or the story in general. Or want to talk Dramione? The greater Harry Potter universe? I'm your girl. Tumblr. Seriously. Let's be friends.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise


	21. Almost

Chapter Twenty-One: Almost

Hermione couldn't even tell it was Slughorn's office. The party was stunning. The whole room was draped in crimson, gold, and emerald hangings that shimmered when someone walked by them. Music was a simple, soft choir over acoustic accompaniment. Professors, scholars, businessmen, accomplished past students, and current students alike wore their best clothes, ate the best food, and drank the best mead in celebration for the upcoming holiday.

Most people seemed to be enjoying themselves, though the two Carrow sisters seemed to be avoiding a confident Cormac McLaggen, who was standing under the mistletoe, at all costs. Harry seemed rather bored in his newest conversation with a group of old warlocks who were doting on the Boy Who Lived.

Thankfully, he had invited Luna. And as uncomfortable as Hermione got at the airy comments Luna made normally, she now conceded that Luna's presence was perfect for this event. For Harry.

And while Hermione knew he'd rather be here with Ginny, Harry seemed to be enjoying himself with Luna if his smile was any indication. She was glad one of them could find real happiness despite their similar situations.

Her gaze turned to Ginny, who was only a few steps away, carefully tucked into Dean's arm.

The couple was getting along extremely well tonight, Ginny looked radiant in the blue dress she'd decided on those two weeks ago in Hogsmeade, and Dean couldn't take his eyes - nor his hands - off of her. Hermione noticed that Harry had been avoiding the two whenever he could. As much as Ginny had complained back in that dress shop, the couple did not show any evidence of strain. In fact, Ginny shined the opposite. She looked happy. Really happy. Dean looked it, too. Hermione noticed his arm wrapped around his girlfriend's waist as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear, so comfortably.

It reminded Hermione of her date with Draco in Hogsmeade and, without warning, she felt exceptionally lonely.

She felt a hand on her back, bringing her back from almost-dangerous thoughts.

Turning her head, Hermione was greeted by the warm smile of Seamus Finnegan. "Does that mind of yours ever stop working?" He teased, lifting a flute of something that sparkled in front of her, offering.

She took the glass with a polite smile. "Six years, Seamus. That's how long you've known me. You shouldn't have to ask that question," she quipped on autopilot, urging his smile to widen.

"Drink up then," he suggested with a nod to her drink. "It will help."

 _Bless his patience,_ she thought.

He seemed to understand so well. He understood that she wasn't ready to completely move on. That wasn't why she brought him, and he was fine with that.

He didn't mind the moments when her mind clearly slipped somewhere else, where she pictured blonde hair and stone benches and clouds full of rain.

She looked down at her dress and absentmindedly smoothed our nonexistent wrinkles in her dark gray skirt. Ginny has done an incredible job mending it, transfiguring it.

But it still reminded her of Draco.

How many colours could one pair of eyes possess? If it wasn't silver- like Slytherin, like kisses- it was gray- like storm clouds and regret.

It really wasn't fair.

"Where is your merry Christmas spirit?" Seamus joked again as he pulled a second glass from a nearby tray. He raised his drink to hers, continuing cheerfully, "it may not shut off that brilliant mind of yours, but it might make being around these two lovebirds a little more bearable."

 _Ahhh_ , she thought after glancing at Dean and Ginny. Only for a moment. They're snogging.

At that, she smiled for real. Briefly.

The flutes made soft tings as they bumped together.

"Cheers," he exclaimed.

She took a sip and found that the bubbly drink was not half bad.

Pleased, Seamus smiled at her once again before gently tugging her in a different direction, toward Neville, Luna, and Harry.

This almost felt normal.

* * *

Ginny had been right.

Inviting Seamus to Slughorn's Christmas party had not been a bad idea at all. In fact, it was almost perfect.

 _He_ was almost perfect.

He was ever the gentleman: prompt, polite, and present.

While she fully anticipated he would spend most of his time talking with Dean, she was pleasantly surprised that he was completely attentive to her and all of her needs.

He offered her his hand as they walked down to the dungeons without hesitation. He kept a drink in her hand, but she never felt pressured to drink it. He kept his hands at very appropriate places on her body. Wrapped around her hip, the middle of her back, across her shoulders, or simply her hand.

He seemed content to stick by her side or content to socialize off on his own. But even when they were visiting with different groups, he was still paying attention to her. He still looked over to her every few minutes, made eye contact.

He quickly learned which eye movements said "save me" and she learned which looks he gave her were meant to poke fun at the people he was with.

And while Hermione found a subtle comfort in the way Seamus was handling their casual date, Hermione still felt the constant pull of pain. He was only almost perfect.

There was the single, incredible fault that he was not Draco Malfoy.

Seamus could be the most attentive, most attractive, most gentlemanly, most perfect date at the party, but he was not the boy she almost loved.

He didn't have that perfectly arrogant smirk, nor the pristinely fitted shirt. He was the opposite of controlled and collected. His jokes were loud and his personality demanded your attention. He didn't compliment her in puzzles or tease her in just the right ways...

She should have been here with Draco.

Maybe he would have placed his arm around her waist, maybe he would have teased the fabric of her skirt, or maybe he would have tried to get her underneath the mistletoe.

 _NO! I can't be thinking this,_ she scolded herself mentally. _I can't be wishing, imagining something that is never going to happen. He chose his side and it wasn't with me._

Hermione cursed herself, downing the rest of her champagne and grabbing another glass from a nearby tray before downing that, too.

She thought about him so hard, she was starting to imagine things; imagine him, standing there in a handsome, perfectly tailored black suit.

* * *

"This boy was found lurking in the corridor!" boomed the old caretaker's voice from beside him. "He claims to have been invited to your party."

Draco barely heard the man who was strongly gripping his arm, wrinkling his grossly expensive new suit. His eyes found Hermione from across the room as soon as he'd been pushed through. His eyes seemed to be doing that a lot the last few weeks; they always seem to know where she is the moment he steps into a room.

That Irishman had his arm around her again, and the implication made his bruised heart sink. _She couldn't possibly–_

"I can't say that he was, Argus, unless Mr. Malfoy's been invited as a date." Professor Slughorn's voice drew half of his mind back into his current situation, but the better half of him remained focused on Hermione.

She was an angel in a gray satin dress.

The way her eyes were locked on only him, how she didn't seem to notice Finnegan's nervous expression, gave him hope.

Draco Malfoy was _not_ going to back down.

_Not this time._

"I was, sir," he assured the professor.

"By whom, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Hermione Granger, sir." _Merlin, it felt right to say her name aloud._

* * *

Across the room, Hermione was thinking something very similar, though the thought ached. _Merlin, it feels good when he says it._

It was then, Hermione realized all eyes in the room were focused on her, but she only felt the sharp gaze from Draco.

Maybe somewhere else there was another boy. One whose eyes were blue and who's hair was thick and brown and whose arm had just stiffened around her waist.

"I did invite him, professor," the Gryffindor confessed. _Technically_.

That arm fell, but Hermione barely noticed.

"Very well then. Let the boy go, if you please, Argus. Let the party continue!"

Draco was released as music and conversation returned to its original volume. Seamus and Harry exchanged looks from where they stood, silently agreeing that this was probably not good. Harry took a step closer to Hermione while Seamus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Both Gryffindor boys were thinking the same things, thinking through the potential outcomes of a confrontation between the broken-hearted couple.

But neither Hermione nor Draco moved an inch. They simply stared at each other from their places on each end of the festively decorated hall.

For Hermione, seeing Draco this close, him looking at her and her looking back, sent panic and comfort throughout her body at the same time. She'd been doing so well at avoiding him. And now that he was here, looking for her, she felt so shaken.

She hadn't realized broken hearts could still _feel_ so much.

A voice sounded beside her, startling the witch from her staring contest. "Would you like me to get him out of here?" asked a very attentive Harry, who had stepped closer to her side.

"I don't know."

"Want me to hex him?" offered Seamus, an uncharacteristic serious expression on his face.

"I don't know." Hermione let out a nervous breath.

"I know a really good one," Seamus continued excitedly. "When you fire sparks at a bloke's–

"Do you want to talk to him?" Harry tried again, cutting Seamus off.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered again, looking at the floor between herself and her two incredible friends.

She was nervous, panicked because Draco was right there and embarrassed because her mind seemed to bloody stop working and awkward because her date was wanting to injure the Slytherin she'd been thinking about all night.

"I think you need to decide quickly," noted Harry. "He's coming this way."

When Hermione looked up, Draco was already ten feet away from where she stood. Seamus' arm snaked around her waist once again and she found that Harry had drawn his wand, threateningly, unnecessarily.

Silence hung as Draco drew closer until he was standing right in front of them.

"Potter," he nodded respectfully.

"Malfoy," he bit back.

"Finnegan," he acknowledged, eyes narrowing, probably confused by the new arm that held Hermione where his own should be.

She could see the faint traces of swollen bruises around his eye. Her heartstrings twitched.

Seamus' arm tightened around her. "Malfoy," he sneered.

Gray eyes met hers and again, time seemed to forget to continue.

"Hermione." She was stunned by the amount of raw emotion that leaked in the way he sighed her name. He was nothing arrogant, nothing proud.

"Why are you here?" Hermione questioned, voice faltering.

Draco glanced painfully from Hermione to Potter to Finnegan and back again, noting the way the Irishman seemed to pull her in closer to him with every word that was said. "Can we talk?" he hesitated. "Privately, perhaps?"

The next four seconds were the longest, most agonizing moments of his life as he waited for a response.

"Okay," that sweet voice volunteered. Hermione stepped a half-step away from Seamus, "I'm going to go. I'll meet you after, okay?" She looked hesitantly between the two boys, unsure.

Harry tilted his head with narrow eyes, sending suspicious yet somehow threatening looks Draco's way over Hermione's shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Stay, party, and give us some privacy?" she assured him with a meaningful glance that told him that following in the invisibility cloak would not be acceptable.

"Alright," he agreed.

She sent an apologetic look to her date, who seemed to be tense, but not angry with her. "I'll be here," he promised.

She wasn't totally sure why she'd agreed to speak with him. It probably wasn't a good idea. It was almost certainly a terrible idea to go anywhere alone with him. But as he stood there feet away from her, she could almost smell the familiar pine scent that was his.

So she caved for her broken heart, and she went.

Awkwardly, Hermione followed a nervous Draco into the cold hallway. Silence consumed them once again, both drowning in nerves and discomfort.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Hermione finally started.

She was more beautiful up close than he'd remembered. Or maybe, he just loved her more. He'd thought about seeing her, here, at the party for three days. But he hadn't given any thought to what he would say when he did.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you still needed a date," he shrugged, looking at his shoes. He felt so small, so much like when he was a child and had broken his mother's favourite crystal vase.

He stayed quiet. "Well, I have one. I'm here with Seamus," she explained with as much confidence as she could muster.

Sort of ironic, wasn't it, that now she was trying to make Draco jealous. The way his breathing paused told her that it had.

"Seamus," he mumbled.

She almost felt bad, then, at the mess of emotions she saw in his eyes. They were stormy again. Tormented, much like her dress.

Her fabricated confidence had not lasted very long and now, she felt small. "So, if that's all, I guess you can go now." She rubbed up and down her arm with the other hand as if she were cold.

He wished he had a cloak to offer her.

"That's not really why I came," Draco confessed. He sighed, silver eyes finding hers. "I miss you." The awkwardness started to melt with his honesty. Part of her (most of her) was extremely glad he wasn't leaving.

"You miss me?"

"I can't escape it. I know I've hurt you. I wish I hadn't. I wish I wasn't–" he trailed off, sighing.

"Draco-

"You're seeing someone?" he asked, a desperate, searching look in those steely eyes. She didn't respond, letting him sit in the silence that was no answer at all. Saying no would comfort him too much; saying yes would be a lie. "I just- I don't understand, Hermione. It's killing me here, missing you. And you're just avoiding me and- and moving on as if- as if nothing happened."

His hands dragged heavy paths down his face, stressing. That's when she noticed the slight crookedness to his nose. It had set well, but at some point, he had broken it. Unconsciously, she took a half-step forward, closer to him.

"I see you getting on with school work and friendships and dating, I guess, and I'm- I- I can't eat and- and I can't sleep. And, really, I'm- I can barely get through the day without you."

His breathing was hard, pained, and his eyes were on the floor between them. She could see his calloused hands fidgeting with his pockets in a way she had never seen before on him. She knew that it was difficult for him to show her this vulnerability so she dropped her eyes, too.

The discovery that it wasn't all a lie did weird things to her body. The combination of being so close to him and hearing his voice say those words made her heart race. She couldn't look up at him. She just couldn't. She took a breath to calm herself down.

Draco chuckled softly at his admission, maybe the awkwardness of the situation, frustrated and stressed, no doubt, but embarrassed, too. "How does none of this bother you?" he questioned sounding hopeless, the emotionless Malfoy Mask discarded entirely. "Was I mistaken? Did I read it wrong? Did you not want it, too? You kissed me back on that tower, I know you did, but now, you don't look at me, you don't think about me—

He'd been interrupted by her fire-lit eyes flashing to his as that last accusation ran off his tongue, but only for a moment. She looked away again.

"You've been thinking about me too," he exclaimed. His grey eyes remained harshly focused on her, daring her to look at him.

"No, I haven't," she insisted, her voice breaking a bit at the lie. Her gaze got away from her; she looked into his eyes. "I haven't given you much thought at all, really."

But he knew it wasn't true. The way her eyes flicked away at the end. He'd spent months studying Hermione and those eyes, he knew them well now.

She _had_ been thinking about him.

The corner of his mouth rose briefly before his lips crashed into hers without warning. She could feel the untamed electricity that coursed through his veins. It shocked her when he kissed her, the warm feeling spreading quickly from her lips to her toes making them curl in the way only he can make them. She refused to respond at first, knowing she shouldn't give in, but he gently brushed his tongue over her lips and the spot tingled, and she was lost.

His hands found her hair and her fingers were tightly gripping his coat's lapel, pulling his body closer. She should have known, and maybe she did, maybe she could feel the fragility of what they were by the way they clung so tightly to each other. It could never last.

 _You shouldn't be doing this,_ she scolded herself despite the incredible way he was making her feel. _You shouldn't want him anymore. You can't do this. He still lied to you! He's still a Death Eater!_

She pushed him away suddenly, her cheeks blazing, lips tingling, and heart racing in circles around them. "We shouldn't. I shouldn't be doing this. We can't," she insisted rather weakly.

He sighed desperately but let her keep her space. "And why not Hermione? I told you on that tower and I'll tell you again: I love you! And I think you—"

"Stop saying that!" she shrieked, a wave of emotional anger taking over. "You- you can't!" Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, but she would never let him see.

"Wasn't that real? That kiss on the tower? It was more than our fake relationship. If we're honest with ourselves, I think it hadn't been fake for a while," his gray eyes were fiercely challenging in the way she could feel them piercing the side of her face.

Too much was happening. Those pesky butterflies came fluttering back almost instantly. It hadn't all been a lie like she'd worried. He felt it, too. He meant it, at least in some capacity. Maybe he couldn't all be summed up by his mark. Maybe there was more to his story. She still wasn't sure what to trust, or how much, but maybe he deserved to be listened to. Maybe.

"I don't know what you did, Hermione, but I can't seem to get you out of my head. I don't know when or how you crept slowly into my world, but you're everywhere. I see you in my mind. Every time my thoughts or my eyes wander, they always find their way to you. And then I seem to get lost in your smile or the faint sounds of your laugh from across the room and it reminds me of memories by the lake and how your nose scrunches up when you're happy. I don't know how or why this started, but I miss you, Hermione. I miss you all the time." He let out an exasperated breath as his hands clenched at his side.

Her breath caught in her throat, her mind almost forfeiting at the thought of making more memories by the lake. She'd been practicing every day, pretending not to feel, but it never got any easier.

Hermione crossed her arms, hugging herself, desperately in need. Of what? She wasn't sure. Comfort, maybe. Understanding. Clarity.

Her mind was at war with her heart. Her voice, shakily betraying her best efforts to remain calm, could not determine which side was winning.

"Why are you saying all of this?" she asked, almost meeting his eyes, but afraid to. His pools of silver-gray have always been her weakness.

"Because I have to," he breathed. "Because it's true," he added more confidently. "Because-"

He shook his head in frustration and stepped closer to her, his pine scent immediately filling her nose and she had to fight the urge to breathe it all in. She was looking at him again. Couldn't help it. His developing agitation, his smell, the feel of his magic reaching out toward her was so familiar.

"Damnit, because I love you, Hermione!" he bellowed, passion filling his eyes. "I love you, and I'm sorry if that scares you. I'm sorry if you wish I didn't say it, but the feeling is not something I can shake so easily."

He let out a sharp breath and took a few steps away, tormented and thinking, as he ran his hands through his hair.

Just like Hermione. Thinking, thinking, _thinking_.

 _I'm not sure what love feels like,_ she remembered, thoughts back to a conversation with Ginny. _But I think I have read enough books to know that it would be something spectacular._

At the time, she had imagined spectacular romances like Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler, or Gatsby and his Daisy, those stories that make your heart pound as you read them. But maybe spectacular meant more than that romantic goodness. Maybe the only thing that is required for something to be spectacular is that relentless heart pounding.

Maybe it was like Fred and George's fireworks that day she'd sat her OWL's, the glorious sight of the sparkling creatures chasing Umbridge about the castle, a frantic McGonagall firing spells trying to remedy the situation. But she'd never before thought about the professor's perspective of that day; surely McGonagall was rather impressed by the fireworks, too. Upset, angry, and annoyed with them, disapproving of their methods, but still stricken with the breathtaking expression of magic. Still, she would have thought that the sight of the twins mounting their brooms and soaring into a cloud of glittering magic, away from Hogwarts forever, was a spectacular one.

Maybe, Hermione thought, spectacular isn't always the fireworks. Maybe, spectacular is the magic. The feeling. This moment. Now.

The way he looked at her with those silver eyes made her _feel_ something, his words made her heart race, and when she kissed him, _Merlin_ , it was pure magic. And she knew then, that what she felt for Draco was real, spectacular love.

No almost.

When she looked up a moment later, her eyes betrayed how hard she was trying to stay calm, for they showed the gloss of Almost tears.

He took a step toward her. He lifted his hand to rub down her arm, starting at her shoulder before taking her hand in his. She looked sadly at their hands and didn't grip his back like she might have in the past, but she also didn't move away. That made Draco smile the tiniest smile on the inside.

His eyes were pleading with her as his next words were whispered and desperate. "Please don't pretend this didn't mean anything to you. Hermione, I was there. I saw the way you looked at me."

She wanted to say something.

 _I'm sorry_ , or perhaps, _fuck you_. She wanted to say, _It did mean something. I let you in and you abused that position of trust._ But no no no. She wanted to say, _kiss me please, please, again, we can forget everything._

Or maybe, maybe she just wanted to say, _I love you, too. You don't deserve it but I still love you._

"Why won't you look at me?" Draco asked.

She did and, Godric, it almost broke her. His eyes were sad and the way they pleaded with her made her ever-fragile heart stop.

"We were almost there, Hermione. We were almost something real. They say that Almosts are the worst kind of pain because it's close, but not enough. Almost is something you can touch with your fingertips, but can never really reach. It's living constantly in the high of anticipation. But for me, I don't know, it's more than that."

Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper. Weak. "What do you mean?"

"I- I keep thinking about that night on the Astronomy Tower," he sighed. "Everything was coming together so perfectly, you and me. And then we weren't. The Almost hurts. The ending hurts. You just left, without asking questions, without explaining–

Hermione sharply pulled her hand from his, eyes angry. "I hardly thought I needed to explain myself–

"And you didn't!" He threw his hands up in a placating gesture, recognizing his mistake, and raised his voice more at himself than her. "I understand! I get it, I know. I don't deserve you in the slightest, but that makes it even more searing. I get why you left, but we never said goodbye. We just kind of... ended... without ever really beginning"

 _Ended._ So much information hung in that one word. It implied that something had been started. It gave off a feeling of finality, but not one that was welcome.

"Maybe that's all we'll ever be– an Almost, an incomplete sentence, a half-written story. Finished, without an ending."

The words cut him like a knife. "It doesn't have to be like that. We can add to our story, however we want," he suggested, a pleading, frantic tone creeping back into his voice.

"No we can't!" she bellowed in response.

He reached out for her again but this time, she flinched from his touch. "Hermione, why don't you see that we don't have to be an Almost! We can be whatever we want!"

"Don't you understand why this doesn't work, why this can never work? I shouldn't be associating with you at all. I should have let Filch throw you out." Frustration grew in her until she was shouting at him with things she hated to say. She wanted him so badly, she wanted everything to work out like he thought it could. But it couldn't. She wouldn't. Not a Death Eater.

"Don't say that Hermione, please." He reached out as he spoke, aching to touch her, hold her hand once again. But she stepped away, avoiding his hands and he grimaced. "I had to see you. I've been a mess. Don't you see this is driving me mad? Don't you see that it's killing me to miss you when you don't even care? I can't go another day like this, watching you move on like it was nothing. We weren't nothing. We aren't nothing!"

"I love you," Draco professed again, taking a deep breath. He moved closer to her, Hermione retreating, matching each step, her thoughts running wild with questions. But Draco was growing annoyed with her continued attempts to avoid it.

"I love you with adoration, with fertile tears, with groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire," he quoted, making her pause to look at him carefully.

_Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, of all things._

She was rather annoyed that he had to go and quote _that_ book in particular, and she rolled her eyes, mouth pressing into a thin line. She saw traces of an almost smirk on his face as he saw the way his words threw her, and that turned her annoyance into pure anger.

"You love me?" she asked fiercely, showing her fury. "Which is it then? Was it that you loved me enough to let me go, or you didn't love me enough to hold on, to fight, to fix it?"

"I wanted to hold on. I wanted that, but I needed to know that you cared enough to fight _with_ me! I was right there. I was ready to leave the entire world behind, every obligation, if it meant I could be with you." He took a step forward but it wasn't predatory. It was pleading. "I wanted you to love me back! I wanted you to say, 'you're so stupid but I believe in you and there's got to be a way to fix it.' Isn't that what you always give Potter and Weasley? Don't you always stick by them?" Hermione looked at her feet before meeting his stormy eyes once again.

She usually liked the raw Draco, the one who left his Malfoy Mask at home. But not now. Not when he was yelling at her. Not when he was making her think about such difficult things.

"Hermione, I wanted that. I needed that. But you left. Telling someone I love them isn't easy for me. But with you, it felt so right, so simple and clear and perfect. I hardly even realized the sacrifice that was. I gave you the power to destroy me and that's exactly what you did. You left. And It kills me because I understand! I don't deserve you, but I was hopeful. Then I hoped that you leaving meant that these feelings I had for you would wither away, but they didn't. They're still around and growing, even.

"It hurts, Hermione. It hurts to want you so badly- to fall deeper into love with you- when I see the way you ignore me. I see how you avoid me all the time. I don't understand how you can go on like nothing ever happened, like none of this matters," he stressed, gesturing between their two bodies.

She looked up from the floor finally, noting the pained expression on his face. "It's so much easier to act like none of this matters. It's so much easier to pretend, to wear a smile, to hide behind my books than it is to confess my heart is nearly broken from losing someone who was never even mine."

"Then let me be yours," he pleaded.

"It's not that easy, Draco."

"Why not?"

"Are you still working for Voldemort?" the power and confidence in her question startled them both. He looked down and away, giving his silent answer.

"I think you answered your own question." She turned away from him with a harsh look that masked her internal agony. Silent tears traced long, lonely paths down her blush-covered cheeks.

They hadn't made it far from the entrance to the party, but she had to consciously force herself to take each step. There were so many things she still wanted to say: How they could have worked it out, how she thought she might have loved him, how he could make things right.

She wanted to tell him that she wanted him to change his mind, to switch sides, to leave his world behind like he offered. YES, it was what she wanted. YES, she believed there could be another way out, another way that would allow them to be together. But telling him that would have defeated the purpose.

She could see the contemplation, the doubt, the uncertainty in his eyes; he didn't want the life he had signed himself into. For Hermione, that was the Almost that hurt her the most. He was _almost_ there. She needed him to make the decision for himself, completely.

No Almost.

After all, love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HI READERS! AHHHH I love this chapter. I really do. And I'm sorry they didn't get together here (not really, because it is all for the purpose of plot!). As always, I promise it will work out in the end and I appreciate your patience! There were too many kind reviews this week to give shoutouts. I love you all and my heart is happy! THANK YOU!
> 
> Credit to the great (but slightly overrated) William Shakespeare for Draco's love quote and "love sought is good, but given unsought is better." Both are from Twelfth Night!
> 
> Questions: What is running through your head right now? What is your favourite line this week?
> 
> Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin2 for her generous help with this story. BTR would not be what it is without her!
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Ask me questions, let me know what you think of each chapter or the story in general. Or want to talk Dramione? The greater Harry Potter universe? I'm your girl. Tumblr. Seriously. Let's be friends.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise
> 
> Update May 3, 2019   
> It pains me to announce that I need to take a break from Better Than Revenge. This break will last about three months, but I PROMISE I WILL BE BACK. As I prepare to graduate college and finish my teaching credential program, I’m bombarded with assignments, final exams, moving across the state, party planning, job hunting, and the crippling anxiety about it all. I graduate at the end of the month, then will be backpacking across Spain along the Camino de Santiago until late June and I will not have a computer for that trip. 
> 
> It was my original plan to post every week, and I timed it to post the last chapter on the Friday before I graduated, but my original outline somehow found a few extra scenes and chapter got long and split up, and here we are with like… Seven-ish more chapters and there is no possible way I’m going to finish them all before the end of this month. I rather take the time to create quality chapters than rush through the ending just to meet my imagined deadline. 
> 
> I sincerely apologize for this brief hiatus, but I hope the rough estimate of when I will be back will keep you from completely hating me. I will be reunited with my computer on June 25th! You can expect a chapter a week or two following that. Thank you for your understanding and patience and support as I deal with all of these big life changes. I promise with my whole heart, THIS FIC WILL BE FINISHED. I recommend subscribing and/or following so you receive an update when the next chapter is posted. I may post an almost-finished one shot in the next few weeks so follow me as an author to receive those updates, too!


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